Stories of the City

For as long as I can remember I've enjoyed solitude. Most days I could be found wandering the woods on and around my families farm, usually accompanied by an odd assortment of animals. They were my closest friends, other than the friends living in my stories, and they were enough for me. As an introvert, I found the quiet loneliness of the woods restful and relaxing. Don't get me wrong, I like people and I like listening to friends and acquaintances alike, however I find groups of people draining after a while.

Somehow though, I found myself working in what people sometimes call the greatest city in the world, New York. I remember sitting on a concrete ledge at Chelsea Piers in Manhattan, watching the endless hustle and bustle as I waited for the company van to pick me up for the long commute home. The work itself was not uninteresting, cutting and shaping metal before transporting it to be installed. I would even say that the early morning views of the Hudson could be beautiful as the sun glittered off the buildings and the wide waters. It was the press of humanity, the endless noise and confusion that made me long for the peace and quiet of the forests and fields. Now, almost two years later I live in the foothills of the White Mountains, surrounded by a seemingly endless forest, filled with the music and beauty of nature. I work outside most days, mowing lawns and working endless building projects in the summer and clearing and moving snow in the winter. I can honestly say that I don't miss the city, and would gladly live my life without returning. Sometimes though, I find myself wishing that I could have explored a different side of New York, searching out its endless stories.