The soon to be long drawn out goodbye

I'm just staring out the window of my apartment, a butterfly perched quietly on the flowers of the strawberry plant that is sitting on the weathered wood of my deck railing, as John Mayer's "Covered in Rain" is playing softly in the background of this momentary step away from reality.

I'm leaving in less than four weeks.

I've been in Victoria for three years now and have made myself a home among arbutus trees and magnolias and the pink of cherry blossoms that wake in the early days of spring. I've become exceedingly attached to the smell of salt in the air as I await the arrival of the morning bus on my way up to the University. I think about my trips down to the water to take in the ocean view. Watching the waves crash over my car as K and I listen to the sound of each other's breathing as the wind storm of the year passes through town, tearing away the soft sand from the beach and leaving behind the victims of it's fury... kelp and driftwood and maybe a bottle flung from a far away island.

I guess I always get just a little sentimental when I have to say goodbye to a place I've grown to love. To be honest, I was sad when I left Alberta three years ago, knowing that the huge piece of sky that hung over my head as a child will always be important to me. I make jokes about being from Alberta, mainly in good fun. But I always wonder if the people that have never seen the prairies could ever experience the sunsets and thunder storms and northern lights that I've been lucky enough to see.

The thought of saying goodbye has been making me nostalgic for experiences gone by. I still recall some moments with friends that make me smile.... J and I, in our first year of university, had spent the night talking and wondering just how we would be able to change the world. As I left her place that night, I walked outside and saw a sky filled with an electric lights show that only nature could provide. I called her from the nearby payphone and she met me to see the lights as well. Another moment was a camping trip in Waterton with a group of high school friends, where we laid down in the middle of an open space at the foot of the Rockies and simply watched the satellites passing overhead. Or watching the hawks fly over us as my family took our regular trip up to Calgary to visit my grandparents, racing down the highway watching the flat, golden world pass by. Or walking the streets of south Lethbridge with K late at night, in the early stages of our relationship, just enjoying the smell of oak trees. Or driving out to Beaver Mines for a camping trip and sitting by the fire just letting the sun go down over the mountains that surrounded us. Or fishing with my dad at that same lake, catching the only trout of the day when I was a kid and remembering that things couldn't really get much better.

For me, it's always the quiet moments that are worth remembering.

I see friends and family that I haven't seen in a long time, and wish that I could just take all of them from the various places they are... Lethbridge, Calgary, Edmonton, Victoria, Macoun... and transplant them to wherever I am. Obviously it's unrealistic, but I still think that the reasons for missing a place has little to do with the place, but has more to do with the people that shared that place with you. As I get older, I wonder what kind of footprints I'm going to leave behind in the places I've been. Will the tide will come in and wash my footprints away? The beach has a short memory.

On a separate note, that is definitely worth mentioning: My friend Meaghan is getting married today to her long-time beau Jared. Although I don't think she reads this page (or even knows about it), I'm wishing her all the best and thinking about her. I wish I could be there to share in it.

"I remember you... do you remember me too?"
- Stereo Fuse

Does anyone else feel that sometimes there's a soundtrack playing for certain moments in your life? I know that it feels like there's one playing for me...

- T