I woke up this morning extraordinarily pensive. Today’s my last day of work. Originally it was Friday, but decided earlier in the week I’m good and asked the boss if I could make Thursday my last day. And while I was originally set to go home Saturday, I figured since I paid for my place for the month of July, I’m going to hangout a few more days; I’ll go home next week.
After getting my drinks and cigars, I made my way over to old Darby Bridge for some quiet time before work.
I sat there quietly; watching the slow drift of the Bitterroot while the rising trout took advantage of the morsels drifting by. The sounds of the shimmering cottonwoods and bubbling creek helped my mind easily drift into the void.
“I’m really going to miss this place. I wonder if I’m ever going to make it back? It’s okay. I am at peace with it. I’ll find new adventure.”
There’s a part of me that feels if, for whatever reason, the next job falls through and my time in Montana is cut shorter than expected, I am at peace with it.
