visual cues (August 09)

Lucy relaxes for a second to take in the view from my bedroom window, and depending on the street's activities, lays there to quietly observe or loudly barks at what she sees below. The bed in my room at home is situated under one of two windows, allowing for ample light - and a prime view of Green Meadows Drive.

Sometimes I wonder how many cumulative hours I've spent staring out this window, with or without dog. The view hasn't changed much. Up the street a bit, a blue house; the slight shadow of Casper Mountain seems to stretch above it. A few years ago, the neighbors directly across the street renovated their (not pictured) house's exterior, a much-welcomed facelift. They have a spruce tree I thought I remembered as a few feet tall; only on a recent trip home did I notice it stretches tall and skinny, almost taller than the house itself. There is an alleyway between the garage and Garden Creek. I've watched deer, dogs, and unruly teens amble around in the gravel, often disappearing where the alley curves and disappears behind their house. In the summer, the trees and brush from the creek spill into the alley and make it so green, I think I'm in Minnesota.

Since this is my childhood home, even the most simple of visual cues rush to me. In the summer, I used to leave my window open all night, braving the dry cool to take in my favorite scent. The Russian olive trees next to my house and lining the creek have a scent completely unique to home - maybe I haven't looked hard enough, but I've never come across it here. It's sweet and tangy, and to some degree, I couldn't stop breathing it in, almost to a point of accidental hyperventilation. Sometimes in the summer, when I fought to try and sleep, simply resting my head on the windowsill and screen and watching for nothing was enough to lull me back to my pillow.

I probably took this picture last summer to show my dog in her constant state of hyper-awareness. And tonight, I'm happy to see it. Sometimes I miss home so much, the weight of the little things I remember kind of throws me off guard. On nights like this when I can't quite turn off my thoughts, I could use an open window and some fresh creek air to calm them.