I miss mountains. I miss waking up and seeing black peaks against a blue sky, viewing the starkness of the day. I miss the west coast– the blues so blue it’s violet, the whites so white they seem opaque, like a pearl. I miss the air, how it’s cold and pure and hurts in your lungs (but it’s a good kind of hurt). It tells you that everything is new here, everything hasn’t been bruised or damaged or ruined. The air just keeps giving and giving and you take it all in believing in what it tells you.