In Defense of Ohio

Maybe I was too hard on Ohio in that last post. I was. I think I was.

Ohio offered me an olive branch yesterday. I know we've had our awkward moments in this getting to know each other stage, she said. I know I'm nothing like the others, that change is hard. But come, girl, run on my landscape, climb up my hills, breathe in my spring air. You'll see I'm not so bad.

Why am I quoting Ohio like she's a character in The Giving Tree? I have no idea. But let's just go with it.

So I went on a long run with Ohio. When my music died halfway in, she sent a cardinal to set the pace. I chased the gorgeous scarlet all the way past the meadow. And after my red-feathered friend disappeared into the forest, a red-tailed hawk took over, flying circles around me for a quarter mile. (That one was a bit of a show-off. I get it, dude. You can fly a sub-2 minute mile.) 

Anyway.

The run was exactly what I needed. I thought about how I might not ever be rooted again in anything or anywhere, how I might forever miss that feeling of feeling at home. And then I thought about how I have two feet and two hours and twelve miles of trail, and I have right now, with two birds and two thousand trees and a looping spring soundtrack. And I'll list it twice--I have right now.


I have right now--in Ohio. And I don't need to chop my poor little state down to a stump to see all she has to offer. She offers me right now!

And right now is more than enough. I stretched my legs against the old fence post Ohio offered me, and I admitted. You were right. You aren't so bad. I know I can be happy here.

And the tree Ohio was happy.