By Megs
Date: 5 April 2001
Coming Home
Coming home, I watched the terrain change slowly.
The altitudes increased. My ears adjusted accordingly.
The temperature dropped as we crossed state lines.
My eyes took in the mountains and hills that signal home as certainly
as the welcoming arms of a parent.
Every instinct in my body responded, all five senses taking
in the elements from which they were formed.
Coming home, I wanted to laugh and cry all at once.
Since birth, I had always believed the mountains meant home. The familiar
road signs. Rt. 19. The West Fork River. Meadowbrook Mall. Mountaineer
Field. The faces of my family. My favorite takeout (calzones from High
Street). The cotton sheets on my bed at home.
But as I took it all for the first time in months through the window of the
car, I realized something of my home was found simply sitting beside you
anywhere over the planet.
Everything around me was saying hello again but my ears still rang with your
goodbye. It rained a little, recognizing my new loneliness.
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