A little north of here.

A long drive a couple of hours north during a rare day off together, listening to podcasts that spark meaningful conversation. We get to the lake we’re looking for and we gaze down, down, down into the depths of its glacier green, its fractal white, its crystallised air. Methane from decaying plant matter froze as it rose to the surface, making art of winter’s fierce, icy grip.

A couple of weeks before this, I received the news that I had been waiting 5 months for: I had received permanent residency. I was elated, yet I missed certain aspects of home more than ever before. I’ve now migrated four times in my life; like a plant and its roots disturbed when you take it out of its soil, it can take time to resettle, to feel secure enough to start growing again, and in many dark moments it is all you can do to lean towards the sun. I’ve yearned for warmth, for the comfort & closeness of my family, for financial security, for career certainty. In this time of transition I have been challenged and have often questioned why I ever left home. It’s days like these that help me to remember.