I miss the smell of the cedar-scented air and the brisk breeze against my face. I miss the sun reflecting off the limestone hills and the crackling of the dried Spanish oak leaves on the ground.
I miss the silence.
I miss the ravens that fly over every day to see if I have left any food scraps out that they might like. I miss how I can try to duplicate their cry and they will converse back and forth with me. I wonder what we are saying.
I miss how the longhorns stand at the fence when it is feeding time, patiently waiting for someone to come and fill their feed pans. I wonder if they stand there every morning and evening when I am not there and how long they wait.
I miss the way I can turn in any direction in my little cabin and see out a window.
I miss sitting at the counter drinking my coffee and looking outside to see what is stirring in the yard.
I miss watching the twin fawns I've seen grow up all year.
I miss the 80 to 100 wild turkeys that surround the yard every day or so, moving from the water troughs to the deer feeders to the bird feeders to the turkey feeders. The gobblers are starting to strut their stuff and make their gobbling sounds.
I miss the way the rest of the world and its problems and pettiness disappear when I am surrounded by these things.
I miss the way the full moon shines through the window by the bed, lighting it up enough to read a book without turning a light on.
I miss the blue of the sky that you only see when you are in a dry climate.
I miss the way the sun sets over the top of the trees spreading an orange and red glow over the clouds.
It's time to go home.
"I want to go home, to the dull old town, with the shaded street, and the open square, and the hill, and the flats, and the house I love, and the paths I know. I want to go home."