adobe walls

There’s a very unique sort of comfort in unchangeable places; a tree that sheltered you all through childhood standing tall and timeless where it has always stood, a bathroom that still has all the same grit in it’s corners from the ever-eroding adobe walls and a badly painted picture of a dog opposite the mirror that your mom let you paint when you were 6, a cactus growing out of a boulder perched eternally on the hillside where you played an intricate game of pretend with your herd of breyer horses. Every time I go home I feel intensely grateful for the steadfastness of its landscapes, the way it transports me so entirely to so many different stages of my small life.