I never knew how much I needed you until we found ourselves here, nestling in amongst your creeks and your big cypress trees that August.
You felt like coming home. Not just to Texas, but to a place where my soul could find rest again, where I could dig my heels in and create some roots as deep as those that line the river that runs through town. The sky that stretches out over the old buildings that make up your city limits feels both safe and limitless at the same time, like a place where I can dream as big as I desire, and then a place I can come back to when the dreams get too tiring or too heavy. You feel like home.
I may have loved the HEB about you first, but I quickly came to love the people that call you home, too. They're the best kind of people: Texans, warm and welcoming with a genuine shake of the hand and a nod hello. Their homes quickly become your home too, and your home becomes their new home, too. Your people have now replaced that lovely HEB as my favorite thing about you, Wimbo.
You remind me where I came from, yet provide a newness and a change that my ever searching soul needs. I never could have suspected the subtle ways in which you would soften my rough patches or the retreat you would come to provide, but I'm thankful each time I look out the windows of our home or drive through town and over your waterways. We've found our home.
Thank you, Wimberley, and I love you.