My favorite part about moving somewhere new is finding qualities in the place that remind you of what you left. In my case, I left where the dusty roads met the rugged Santa Catalina mountains that touched the sherbet sky in Tucson, Arizona, and moved to the small town just outside of Chattanooga in Cleveland, Tennessee where the rolling hills blended with the dewy chill in late march skies.
One is a desert where its mountains are rugged and brown with shadows carving out gnarled knuckles on each peak. The other is the south where its hills are rolling and carpeted in emerald green.
But, I noticed something between the two. At a certain time of evening, or maybe even a certain time of year, and certainly a certain distance away, both types of mountains blend into this gradient of slate blues and earthy purples, blending one ridge into the next like a Monet painting. From a zoomed out view of the world, which I think we can all go for a little more of in our lives, suddenly the mountain range of southern Arizona and the mountain range of Tennessee look similar, and I feel at home, no matter which is my view, because the one reminds me of the other just enough.
