Someone's Sparrow

Dear Keewenaw Peninsula,

I miss you. I’m writing this from a hipster coffee shop in Appleton, Wisconsin. I miss your sweeping forests, your cold wind, your endless snow, your rocks that hold history, your deep blue Lake Superior.

It’s alright here. I have a teeny tiny studio apartment in the city’s historic neighborhood. It’s got a permanent funk to it and everything is a bit gross. I’m still finding toenails and hair from the previous tenant, and I’m pretty sure I found a cockroach yesterday. I’m sleeping in a big bed without the boy that usually occupies mine and I feel fractured. The urban sprawl makes me sad and I work in an industrial park. The town has some nice parks and nice people. I found Magnolia Electric Company by Songs: Ohia in the local record store downtown. It’s not all bad, but I can’t shake you.

I keep coming back to you. I’ve never found stillness like I found in you. You stay in my head and in my heart. You taught me how to be half-wild, how to sing a simple song. You give freely and you take without apology. You are punishing. You are kind. You are beautiful. You are unpretentious. You are weird. You are remote. I have met myself many times in your long seasons.

I know that I’ll always look for you wherever I go. I promised you that I’d be back, someday. Some sweet day I’ll feel your cold wind bring a familiar blush to my cheeks.