This morning as I walked my dog around my neighbourhood I was captured by the serene perfection of the moment. It was exactly why I love living here and one of the big reasons we moved here. Not because it was sunny or picturesque, nor because I could see or smell the ocean. It had nothing to do with the popular reasons people love the coast, or at least it felt more private than that. It was because the air was wet, the ground soaked, mossy and green, yet it was not raining. There were rotting leaves and mud puddles all over the walks and grass. It was warm – about 10 degrees at 8:00 am. Everything was fresh and still and silently gorgeous. There was not a breath of wind. It was harmonious. I unrealistically wanted nothing more than for the walk to continue unabated, to say and hear nothing, for time to cease passing.

It’s funny – people have all sorts of reasons why they love the things they love – places, people, food, experiences… Sometimes these reasons are private or inexplicable. Sometimes they are just feelings that haven’t been fully explored and therefore can’t be put into words. But they are no less fantastic. Other times, when you can’t understand why you are where you are, or what you’re doing doesn’t feel right, there is a lack of synchronicity which reverberates through your soul like two notes out of key, yet in a way that only you are aware. Like telling a lie, inside you know that things are unsettled, unbalanced, or otherwise wrong.

The freedom afforded by the opposite – moments of sheer perfection, congruous balance and rhythm, even in little ways, is otherwise incredible. Today I had one of those. Everything felt right.

I love living here. I never felt even a portion of what I feel here living in Alberta, and if it wasn’t self-evident in my attitude or previous blog posts, then I make it clear here now. But that’s just me – many people love living in the prairies and I’m not going to take that away from them. But I am incredibly satisfied for all sorts of wonderful, (ir)relevant, little reasons that I am here.