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Well, I'm back.
I guess I should explain, for the new readers who don't yet know what being back means. I will, but for now, I'm back home, whatever home means. I'm back in the place where I grew up, but I'm seeing it with fresh eyes and it doesn't feel much like home anymore, lovely and refreshing as it is. And I like that. I don't want home to be a set place so much anymore.

Some things.

I can see the stars. There aren't so many street lights. The street lights there are, aren't obnoxiously orange. I can sleep with the window blinds open and not be blinded by the parking lot lights.

The house, when I walked in, smelled like history. It smelled like a house that has been around for one hundred years (because it has been). It smelled good.

Outside smells sweet, and there are lots of birds, and now there are fireflies, and someone across the street is having a fire, and the highway sounds are far off in the distance, and I can hear a raccoon having a tiff, or maybe it is a cat, I don't know.

When I wake up tomorrow I'm going to run, and I'm excited about it.