Heading home. I know home is in France, but home is also with my mom and family in Willows. Next year I will have lived longer in France than I did in the USA. Home isn't a place really…
As usual, I am not packed. My plane leave at 4am (a few hours from now). I do not like to pack, nor think about getting on that plane, it scares me.
I am ready,
but not ready.
Autumn in Willows fails to disappoint:
The harvest, the golden hue, the open spaces to stand in awe.
Sunsets.
Going home.
Feeling at home.
It is all the same.
I heard somewhere that the place where one lived when they are around twelve years old has a lasting impression on ones visual concept of soothing attractive colors.
Old barns.
Dairies,
Pick up trucks,
Rice fields.
Long straight roads.
Rice harvest.
My mother's home.
Do you live in the same place where you were born?
Where do you call home?
Leave a Reply