Why I love where I live
Across the street from my house is a lake. Actually, it's a retention pond that is dry now, but is normally only about a foot-deep when we aren't in a drought. Last spring, a friend put some crappie in the pond, and I could sit on my front porch and watch a Blue Heron hunt. He comes so often people stop their cars to watch.
I can sit on my front porch and imagine the deer in the woods on the other side of the lake. I know they are in there because I've seen them. Even though it's a thin strip of trees and dense brush that runs a three or four blocks in the city's flood plain, they're there. One day I saw a deer run along the street for two blocks before crashing back into the shelter of the trees.
I can sit on my front porch and watch the leaves blow past as they fall and contrast them with the reds and yellows and browns still yet to fall. Sometimes I imagine I'm back in the mountains. In the early mornings, I occasionally hear the call of an owl.
I live seven minutes from dead center of downtown if I catch a couple lights. I don't live in the country; it just feels that way sometimes.
How about you?