Ode to Pine Valley

On Wednesday, I went to see my parents in Pine Valley.

I'm no stranger to the beauty of that place. The 'rents have lived there for quite a few years now, and I used to take the drive up every sunday to see them. And even when I lived in Cedar, I made the trek a few times.
After Cedar, I actually moved in to this tiny little house that suited me perfect.

This place is ridiculous.
In the summer, while 35 minutes away, people's faces are melting off from sweltering heat, up there its breezy and the perfect kind of warm. With a smell.... a smell of pine trees and sage and wildflowers and notes of cow poop that really doesn't mess with the more sweeter fragrances.
I would take bike rides to the mail box, almost every day and take it all in. Or sit on my porch admiring the wide expanse of a view. Or just wander around admiring old houses and funky shaped cabins.
At night, there are no street lights. It is dark. Not dark like you'd get down here in 'the city'. Dark like you don't understand until you see. Scary dark. But the stars become like glitter thrown on a dark blue carpet, and you can literally get sucked into them, even if your vision isn't enhanced by a mind altering substance.
In the winter, after it snows, you walk out your door into something like heaven I would imagine. Its so soft and so white that you almost feel like you should whisper.
It really is like some winter wonderland. Something out of a storybook. Something magical. And I don't like the snow, or the cold. But somehow, it would bring about some change in me. Some happy change.
In the fall the leaves change. Not like in St. George where the leaves are green. Then they start getting crusty. Then overnight they all fall off the trees at the same time and you're up to your knees in crusty green leaves. In Pine Valley, the most beautiful colors arise. Yellows and oranges and reds that almost make you think the sunset is reflecting off the trees in the mountain. Its something to see. Something to revel in. And not take pictures, because they don't turn out as vibrant and beautiful as your eyes see it. They never do. And then you show someone the photo, and you're telling them how retarded beautiful it was, and they just don't get it... so just keep in your head.
And in the summer its so much green that you're eyes don't know what to do with it.
Way too much green. But if it were any less it wouldn't be so beautiful.

Sometimes I wish I wouldn't have hastily decided to move back down here. While I'm so grateful to live so close to work, and friends, and boyfriend, sometimes I long for the quiet, lovely, little house in such a lovely little town. Protected and blanketed by strong, helpful mountains. The ones that let the wind build up and whistle. And make your nose grateful. And your eyes.