Nomad Megz

This place is so close to home, yet home feels so far away. I come from the prairies, a meager 10-hour drive away, and have made this journey countless times. With the music turned up, I have passed through brown barren landscape in the spring, made my way through fields of buttercup yellow fields of canola in the summer, and in winter, watched the bleak, but subtle beauty that prairie folk like myself admire when the landscape is lightly dusted in a powder of white snow pass by. But seemingly, the previous hours spent in the car drift away as the towering Rocky Mountains come into sight.

I’ve been here a year, yet being surrounded by the mountains still seems so elusive to a flatlander like myself. That being said, this place, in the interim, has become my home. The town site of Banff, nestled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, is specifically a special place. It has a way of enabling one to let go of past issues, heartache and burdens, as it is said to be a place of transition by the nomadic first nations people that once roamed these valleys. I have felt this sacred presence as its healing nature has had its effect on me personally, having recently endured a number of hardships.

One night, as the night train whistles, and the Coyotes howl, the noises make their way into a dream scape of mine. I drowsily awake, and as the mountain air grows quiet once more, I feel the presence of a dear friend whom has recently and tragically passed away. I quickly drift back to sleep into an obscure dreamland, which invades my subconscious on a nightly basis.

In the morning, I awake next to my most recent companion. It’s only been a year since my relationship with my best friend of 12 years ended. With this wound still fairly open, I can’t help but feel jaded in respect to the notion of love. If the two of us couldn’t make it work, then will it ever truly work with anyone else? Regardless, I roll over, kiss him, and attempt to live in the moment.

The snow is melting off of the snow-capped peaks, the smell of spring is in the air, and the rivers and lakes that are thawing keep calling my name. This place has mysterious ways, and as the canoe slips silently into the water in the morning light, the reflection of the mountains in the water resembles glass. With each stroke of the paddle, I am granted temporarily relief from my recent burdens, and as the sun slowly rises and hits my face, I can feel the