I grew up in a small town in New Mexico. I spent most of my time both in the canyons and the mountains around our home. It was a pretty place.
I moved around a lot when I left NM. and no matter where I lived, be it Kansas, Florida, or Massachusetts, I never once took the pretty of the world for granted.
Ken and I were married in the mountains in Colorado. The place we choose was in a meadow, off a dirt road, in Rampart Range. It was a pretty place.
For the most part, I’ve made my home in small towns, surrounded by pretty. Yet even when I lived in a big city, I found the “pretty” places to hang out.
We lived on an island for almost 20 years. Bowen is a pretty place.
Today, we live in a small town on the coast of BC.
Sechelt is an incredibly pretty place in the world.
We are surrounded by mountains, ocean, forests… all the typical pretty, you expect to find with pretty.
While I was hiking by myself, in the bush yesterday, my thoughts bounced between my fear of getting lost, or attacked by a bear, and totally enjoying the absolute beauty of where I was.
My gratitude for “pretty” is huge.