I grow stronger with the rhythmic move of the kayak paddle in my hand. I grow stronger as I dip my fingers into cold March waters, and watch buds appear on April trees.

The kingfisher plunges into the water and my eyes are drawn across its surface, to the backdrop of mountains, and to pure snow nestled in rock. I’m surrounded by wonder, yet a thick fog of doubt clouds my view. I can enjoy the beauty of this wild country, but can I ever belong again?

This place, once home, is more foreign to me than I ever imagined it could be.

Through years and years away, I’ve changed.

At home in China, a kingfisher, more colourful than this one, perched over the pond that rested outside my door, but he was hidden under thick leaves. To catch a glimpse of the sun on his turquoise back was to catch sight of a miracle.

I said good-bye to the pond, to the kingfisher, to my home and my friends – I travelled half way across this world, weighty with grief, to find another bird outside my door. Similar, yet so different, to the other.

He sat on the pole of the dock, and seemed to be waiting for me, calling me to walk the length of the long yard and dip boat into water. Could he know I was a stranger in this land, in need of a guide? I followed him along the base of Bear Mountain as he weaved in and out of trees, stitching my past to my present.

These trees, limbs heavy with overgrown moss, felt strange and the emerald shade cast over the water, haunting. I’d grown to love a life in a world far away, but it no longer existed. And now, after returning “home” I felt so out of place.

Will those who once cared for me now understand me? Or is the divide of time and culture too wide to be crossed?

Could I ever have the sense of belonging that I so easily ascribed to the kingfisher? As I watched him, the question grew heavier.

Now, one year later, my thoughts go in a different direction. I’ve watched the cycle of seasons, each with its own miracle.

I saw cherry blossom petals blow across the lake in spring, a shower of beauty. I swam in the ocean with seals in the summer, watched leaves turn crimson in fall and in winter played in the snow with my grown boys and teen daughter. For moments, they were kids again, their eyes shone with the same brightness as they did all those years ago on the red dirt of the river path.

Now, spring comes again and the arctic birds pass overhead. I’m taken back in time by one year to when Brian and I sat low on the lake, our kayaks resting side by side and our eyes reaching across a span of peace – a hundred birds landed on ripples before us. I’m taken back by one year, when I scribbled the words that start this story, and I smile.

It’s not that way any more. Just as the kingfisher flew the same route each day, making it his own, I’m finding my own rhythms.

And the world that once felt foreign is taking on the shape of home again.

I wonder, as you’ve read my story, have you seen a glimpse of yourself in there? With life’s twists and turns, we are all bound to have times when we feel out of place. It’s surprising how unsettling change can be and from where our solace comes – sometimes simply from watching a bird.

I’d love to hear how you relate, in the comments below.

At the same time I share my process of adjusting to life in Canada, I’m preparing for life in Asia again, for a new start in a new home. I’m selling artwork to help cover expenses of moving back overseas.

You can own an original work of art that tells a story of hope – and your investment into me as an artist will help me get to my new home and share the joy of art with my new community.

Follow the link to my Patreon page – Art by Charity, for details.