I was raised in a city made of fast lanes surrounded by endless Sunday driving. We worshiped at the alter of ambition and passed around collection baskets for power and influence. I jumped rope in the hidden fortresses of self-made monarchs and believed that we would live forever. And I skipped the smoothest stones across serene creeks and slumbered to sparrowsong. And I swam in golden oceans of wheat, I climbed mountains and drank from glacial lakes.
I was raised in a city of dreams, but I grew up in a city of dreamers; I grew up in a coastal town made for walking where the water blends in with the sky until you're floating at the edge of the new world. When you get a little too used to the way your boss mismanages you, your landlord takes advantage of you, and the high price of milk, it's a haven of such quaint perfection and content ease that it slips your mind to have ever had
big
city
dreams...
And before you know it, you're in love with a pretty young singer/songwriter, you're on the arm of a sailor with golden maple leaves on his shoulders, and you've no reason to ever remember.
I was raised by two good people just trying to do the best they could in the land of opportunity, but I grew up with people drawn to the coastal town - more people than I can count. And we all found ourselves dancing to the same local organic beat in a town pulsing with music.
The rising price of milk may have everyone fussing and fighting in the breakroom, but every so often someone comes along to remind you that there's no place like home
and everyone knows that home is where the heart is.