I have lived all over. Really. I grew up mostly in the Midwest but as an adult I have lived everywhere except the Southwest (to clarify for folks that ain’t from around here: I am only talking about the US).

What makes a place stick with you? I think it’s the air. The air carries on it the memory of the place; what it is; what it means to you; what you found there; what you left.

A friend of mine from the South said this yesterday:

Summer is coming, you can feel it in the air… its going to be one of those southern affairs where voodoo becomes real and the evening brings a palpable eroticism with every intake of air so humid you can feel it caressing your soul.

The air in the South sticks to your ribs; fills your innards; is viscous at times. When I first moved there I found that comforting. It felt like being wrapped in a blanket of kinship; a big hug. After many years, when I found that same feeling to be stifling, I left. However, that feeling is still a memory, the wondrous feeling of ‘palpable eroticism caressing my soul’. I miss it sometimes.

From there I moved to where the air was completely different: the Pacific Northwest. The air there is light and free. It caresses your body from the outside, brushing across you like a silk scarf. Deep breaths of the air there will cleanse your soul. I miss that all the time.

There is comfort in a big hug. There is comfort in a soft caress.

What will I remember here, in this place? I’m breathing it in even now.