Last week marked a year and three months since we’ve been in Scotland. It also marked the second birthday for our son Sam in Scotland, as well as living through a complete “cycle” of seasons in our new home now that we’re fully in autumn and summer is behind us. We’ve no longer just arrived. We’re here now.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the state of things back home in the US. Being on another side of the world means that news doesn’t travel slower, it just happens largely overnight and greets me in the morning. It’s as if I’m on a ship reading the news bulletins from back home, slowly drifting further away from what I knew. Or maybe the country I left is drifting further out to the proverbial sea in relation to how I knew it? Regardless, it’s a strange feeling.
I read the rest of this interview with James Baldwin from The Paris Review this morning, and aside from there being many segments on writing, racism, and figuring out what life is about , the following section really struck me and I thought about it all during my morning run.
I finally got the new bike out today for a decent enough distance (8.5 miles) on both road and trail. Short but sweet. I was able to see a new bit of my running trail I hadn’t seen previously (the Strathkelvin trail).
I spent a fair bit of time outside today with the kids, and while they were occupied on the newly-discovered trampoline of our neighbors, I wandered into the nearbye field for a look around.
The scenery was seemingly very tranquil and quiet at first, but as I walked a little bit I started to notice a chorus of bird calls all around, one in particular with a really unique ring to it.
What kind of bird was it? Had I hear it before around the farm? It seemed new, like the bird had just arrived.