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Montana has changed me, irrevocably so. It's cleared my vision, all that I see and all that I do. Big cities now feel chaotic and loud, rather than exciting and new. I miss the trees and the quiet open spaces and scarcity of people. I miss the people who would offer an easy smile and helping hand, bonfires and beers by the lake, fly fishing and snow-shoeing and mountain climbing and hiking so far my feet ached. I miss walking outside and having fresh air to breathe and a view a hundred miles long. Long summer days turned into short, star filled nights lit up by the omnipresent moon. I miss the version of the world I found there, the one that made me a better version of myself. My perception is so different now, because I am different. I miss Montana with an aching in my chest, a dull thud and a heavy roar. The gnawing comes like a ghost train; it’s shadows seen in the distance, a train that comes quickly and loudly, drowning every other sound that came before. I remember the vast baby blue skies, crimson barns, casino gas stations and wide-open spaces. A white picket fence leading to a rain water run-off ditch, cows grazing within arms reach. The periwinkle Beartooth Mountains to the west, jutting above fields of emerald, sage, and seaweed green. Miles of swaying green grass and vibrant yellow canola fields melting into the base of those untamed mountains, their snowcapped peaks ragged and wavy in the distance. I miss watching the clouds roll in slowly and ominously, under a bright orange sun, the early evening colors woven across the evening sky like a tapestry of interlaced textiles. I miss sitting under a cozy and woolen blanket woven by hand, made from the land. I could breathe in that space, I could hear my heart beat in my chest, and feel no alarm. Silence there was interspersed with nature’s songs, ones in which I felt the need to sing along. I miss having sweet, happy Bella sit at my feet, her brown and black tail thumping and swaying in the wind as she sunbathed on the grass, hoping for a treat. I miss the solace of the quiet and the way my never ending thoughts burned off into the distance when the brightness of day turned to ember filled nights. My heart felt like it found it’s home. My first few days back in a big city were brutal. Something akin to shell shock: all the people and noise, pollution and lack of nature. City life leaves me anxious, aching for the simplicity of trees and mountains and placing one foot, then the other, steadily down onto the ground with no other plans but to keep walking. I search for something, anything to make me feel less of an ache for home. Less lost, less loss. I remember what contentedness feels like, so strong in my memories, though ever so fleeting. I can't run fast enough to return to that place of happiness; the house isn't mine, anymore. The dog that once greeted me so happily at the door won’t return from her long run in heaven, no matter how many times I hope she will. My heart aches; but more so, it burns. I yearn for the peace I knew, for those mountains that rescued me, those I always turned to. Brave and tall- withstanding all that came before, and also, so much more. Just like me. So, I return.