Home. The shape and texture and boundaries we know. The things so much a part of the unwritten code of our lives that we didn’t even prepare to miss them. They were self-evident, a given, and until they were gone or until they were back around us again we didn’t know how much they gave to us.
Home. I missed it.
I knew that we would be gone the whole summer. Leaving end of May, returning mid-September. Of course, we’d spend summer elsewhere. That was an intellectual knowledge, though. Now – confronted with the seed heads on stalks and the yellow leaves dancing in the wind – now that knowledge is emotional. The promise of buds, the plans of sprouts, the exuberant pledge of spring…they matured and I missed it.
I missed it.