Memories Already Made

I've begun to realize that there is little time remaining here, in Canada. The collage of emotions that come with this knowledge carries a strong theme of something like sadness. Our approaching departure creates in me a sense of urgency to commit to memory all the loved and familiar landscapes, smells, and impressions of my "home."
The lush and vibrant soul of Edmonton, it's River Valley, alight with sunshine and bold autumn leaves, its wind carrying the paradoxically sweet scent of decay.
The three-acre plot of undeveloped land behind our first home together, where a hawk often circles and descends upon its prey amid the clovers and indigenous Alberta blossoms--we imagine it extends around us and beyond, our own piece of prairie.
"My" swimming hole just inside Jasper National Park where a mound of bleached white rock makes the perfect sun-bathing spot, surrounded by clear mountain water. Far enough from the woods to escape shade, yet close enough to the highway to escape the hungry bear I know is just around the corner.
The little city that seems to strain and swell into a larger city every year. The city where I rode my pink bike--hockey cards clipped to the spokes--to the gas station where candy still sold for a penny, to Bower Ponds where minnows waited to be caught, to the Rec Centre where the 5-metre board dared me to jump.
Today, I try to look to a time before urban condos dotted the south-east side, before the down-town had a flashy bus terminal, before a Starbucks had ever sold a coffee in this town. And I'm somewhat surprised to find it's not too hard to erase everything that's come about since my memories were made. I realize that everything important is already committed to memory and won't likely fade too soon. After all, Alberta will always be home.