I have many hypotheses. One of them is that people develop a landscape in their mind to which they are accustom. When the landscape is changed for extended periods of time the mind misses it. There is no place like home. I used to be accustom to great green and rolling hills, exuberant shouts from rhododendrons and scotch broom.
Now I have rolling golds, china blues and perfect whites. I am changing the landscape of my mind. Purple mountains majesty split the gold and the blue sky in my dreams. No more azaleas in their place are lilacs and chokecherries.
I no longer dream in Oregonian, I dream in Montanan. Things are large and rolling, jagged and sometimes rude. The land is as rude as the people, however I am slowly finding my reward.