Happy November 1st

This is my sacred day. It is during this time of the year I think of the hills of Scotland and feel the strong pull of yearning to be there. I am a transplant, and like the tree in Digory's backyard, I sometimes move when there is no wind here. This is the time of year in Scotland where the trees are calling and I am moved towards them. Well, by trees I mean all the land and cultural heritage.
I no longer pierced by the pain anymore. I am a content transplant. My roots have grown deep and I am learning to thrive in this odd flat land. I am something proud about this. It is not a land that is associated with anything particularly great. As one of my sister's friends once said "It is the part of Canada I fly over." I have grown comfortable with this. Perhaps that is part of my draw and reason for being here. There is no presumption attached to it, dah-ling. I was free to what it would make itself in me, and I was free to love what it made, and find that I do.
So there, happy November first. I love Scotland yet, but I do not feel the wound, perhaps it is healed? Perhaps there was enough soil in Manitoba to satisfy my thirsty roots starved for land and Scotland is now free to be whatever it is, and I am free to be wherever I am. Now perhaps that I am a rooted person I can begin to actually love Scotland, having learned to love another place first.