Cheating On Utah

I feel, in a way, like I have been cheating on Utah. I love Utah. We have had a relationship for a long time. I always know that wherever I go, she will be waiting for me at home. She is a constant. She is strong, beautiful. I tend to get a little wanderlust occasionally and go away. But I always come back. Recently, I was having a bit of an affair with Germany. With Austria. With Czech Republic. I was enamored of their beauty, the newness of it, the things that made them NOT Utah. Not that I loved Utah any less. I just loved having a breath of something different.

Somehow, Utah must have known that my heart had been wandering. She has been working very hard to make sure I don't fall out of love with her. She has been wearing her finest green mountain-cloak, her crown of afternoon clouds, her bluest skies. She has been wearing the perfume of thundershowers and mountain air that don't smell the same anywhere else. She has been giving me all the gifts I love the most: full moons, warm rain, snowcapped mountain sunrises, fiery purple sunsets. It is her way, I think, of reminding me why she will always be my truest love. Why she will always be home.