I spent the weekend in Bath (in the UK for those unaware) and it was glorious. Sure, there's plenty of quaint shops and gorgeous places to eat or drink, but I managed to arrive on a cloudless day—the British equivalent of a miracle. My wife and I saw the crowds and headed the opposite direction. We walked up the hillside until we found an empty park and lay down for as long as we could.

We setup below this handsome fellow.

London is a tough place to live if you're the outdoorsy type. When the sun arrives, the grunge is laid bare, not to mention the smell of hot garbage the emanates from, well, everywhere. Sure, there are plenty of trees, but it's hard to find any real-estate—affordably, zing!—near a nice shady oak. But here in Bath, I made that connection, that peace of mind that comes from sitting at ease and in the company of bird song.

I had no idea how much I yearned to be outside. That’s the sinister effect of living in a concrete jungle. It’s now clear that being around or having close access to nature is a priority of mine, which I'm not sure I would have been able to say before I lived here.

I'll chalk this up as yet another reason to be excited for the jump back to Canada.