From Mt. Washington

I got a little misty-eyed when I saw it in the rear-view, just eight years ago.  I knew I would long for this city like the Diaspora longs for a Jerusalem they've never seen.  "Next year in Pittsburgh," I would say.  Back in those days, there was a lot of talk about Karbala and Najaf, the "holy cities" of Iraq, so I took to calling Pittsburgh "the holy city."  But life brought me here rarely, and on the occasions that I did return here, I found that I'd forgotten the ways of urbanity.  Much of the city's appeal faded down through the years of living in far-flung places.  I still only halfheartedly admit that there are things I like about being back.  Oh, but all my life I've specialized in being the outsider, the "come-from-away," as they call non-natives on the Maine coast.  All my life I've been best at being an outsider trying to fit in: Oklahoma, Africa, New York, the North Woods. Being a resident alien explained my eccentricities.  Now that I'm back here, there's no excuse.  And it's taking me forever to make this transition.  But oh, those city lights on a winter's night from the crest of Mount Washington!