I’m in the boarding area, waiting for a flight to Phoenix. On an overhead computer screen I preview the weather at my destination city where visibility is described as “unlimited.” I’ve never heard that said about Michigan.
It’s late winter in my world where the visibility is particularly limited—not only by constant cloud cover but by snowbanks in my back yard as high as my head. I’m eager for something different—something warm and spacious.
From Phoenix, I take a shuttle to Prescott—up into the mountains where I am staying with a friend. She used to live in Michigan, too, but moved west because of the vistas, she tells me. Because on a clear day she can see forever and clear days are the norm.
One afternoon she takes me on a tour of the area and I exclaim about the gorgeous mountains. Finally, gently, she says, “We call these hills.” And then she takes me to see a nearby lake where I can’t resist observing that in Michigan we would call this a “pond.”
Which is why, finally, I’m ready to trade mountains for lakes. Ready to return to the limited visibility of the place I call home.