I’m trying to find the right words. There are only 26 letters… maybe it’s not about letters at all. Maybe four is the magic number. Four seasons. Count to four as you breathe in and out. Four cockle burrs always finding me as I weave in out of the thicket. Four wrong turns leads me to a place that feels like North Dakota when the wind blows. Four shots from hunters in the distance. Four-ty mile an hour wind gusts. Four attempts at the shot.

The cinematic silo and the red dilapidated barn sitting on the edge of a lake surround by woods is where I stumbled today. Dead trees cracking and swaying as I patiently waited for clouds to align above the silo. Loud snap, crack, and crash. Wispy bark flitters down to the ground around me and I look up as one massive branch is headed down.

Four steps to the side. Four rapid heart beats. Four box breaths and I look around. There’s no one here. No one saw that. Not a soul. I step further away. Not feeling like my feet are on the ground anymore. I watched as the tree leaned even more and started to record a video. The tree was going to come down. I knew it. The wind gusts pushed and pushed and it fell a bit more but didn’t make it fully to the ground.

I leave it be. Let it fall without a witness. Without eyes on it. I’ve never felt at home here in this state. I miss so much of North Dakota and the people I left there. I miss the wind and the prairie and the Cannonball and the Heart. I know they have 10,000 lakes here but it isn’t enough to hold me. I’ve never loved it here. I’ve never been at home here. Never settled nor calm here. Until I walked in the wind, a wind that whipped and pushed like it does on the flat prairie back home. Never at ease here. Until I watched a tree fall by a silo and a red barn across from a small lake. Dodging certain pain by four quick steps.