Patterns

Rainy, gloaming Mississippi always triggers something in my memory that feels like Ireland. It makes the raven feathers of my soul ruffle and long for flight. Even now as we slide from summer to autumn, there is still a greenness that lingers, and when the misty rain veils it, it shimmers with the same look I saw when I was overseas. I wonder if this is why so many Irish immigrants wound up in this area, if they saw something of home in these plains and hills, something that satisfied them.

Of course, my friend T. from Japan always laughs and says that all places on the earth feel the same because all places on the earth are on the earth. Their fundamental sameness comes from their linking. We had that conversation bouncing down a beach road in his small SUV when I remarked that that particular corner of Japan looked a lot like a part of Costa Rica I'd been in.

I wonder if places are familiar because they really do share similarities or because we seek the comfort of the known in situations where things are different or strange. I sort of like the idea of the world being cut out of big strips of the same thing sometimes. It's oddly comforting. I also like the idea of traveling to different places and seeing what other cultures did with their version of our environment.

I'll continue to look for the little pools of other places I've been in the places I am now for whatever reason they appear. It's a way to live those trips again if nothing else.