Went fishing again yesterday, in a hidden spot nearby. The one past the Hutterite colony, through the cattle gate and down the bumpy washed out road. We were met by some kids on four-wheelers and a Hutterite on horseback, telling us making the trek on pickup might be interesting… and it was.
We rolled through holes and a road that has been beaten down by South Dakota weather, but we made it.
Passing through valley, river as our guide, we made it to the top and took a stop for a moment… and all I could think was I live here.
I had opened the closet door, pushed old clothing aside, and discovered a new land on the other end. A land of new green and quiet crisp air and sober senses replacing the numbed and dulled.
I live here. And yet, it’s not mine.
Perhaps that’s what draws us to beauty, wild and untamed… we cannot keep it, control it, mold it, make it ours. One we try, when we pick it, take it, cage it, hold on to it, its beauty withers.
We know this.
It’s a reminder that this is not our home. It’s to enjoy, to appreciate, to wonder in the meantime. The beauty we find here is incomparable to that which we will find later on.
It’s that otherworldly ache in our chest, the longing for beauty, the desire for joy. If we’re willing to go that place, that is.
Until then, joy will be created here, in a land I can call my home.