I didn’t even realize it until I wrote it.
Tomorrow is my last full day living in the home that housed me throughout my middle school and high school years.
I love my home. I feel a sort of nostalgia here even though I haven’t yet left. It’s the same kind of feeling I get listening to “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole, or smelling my grandmother’s scarf. My home is so beautiful. No matter where I went over the past seven years, no matter how far away I travelled and no matter how long I was gone, I could always come home to my house on the top of the hill. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of walking in through those garage doors for the first time after a two week long vacation, or after a long, hard night of making poor decisions.
I will miss making myself a cup of tea or coffee and sipping it while looking out the kitchen window. Out that window, I can see the limit of our property, as well as the extension of the subdivision alfalfa that rolls flatly beyond it. In the summer, the sky above is always baby blue, sometimes clear, other times with little fluffy white cotton ball clouds waltzing across the floating ocean. In the winter the sky is a blinding cerulean that reflects light onto the endless sheet of cold white powder below. The house casts a westward shadow half a mile long in the early hours of those winter mornings, and in the afternoons, the blue dissolves into a fiery pink orange that lights up the entire sky. When the sun sets during the summer, the blowing prairie grasses breathe alive with the marmalade light. Summer, winter, morning and night, my home is beautiful.
I will miss seeing the first snowflakes fall. That magical moment when suddenly the whole world seems go quiet, and eyes are drawn like magnets toward the windows to admire the beautiful little white butterflies free fall from the heavens and land like teardrops on the dead earth below. In that moment, nobody has words. Children shout in the hallways, “It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” but once you find a window, you stop, and you simply admire. What can you say? You forgot how beautiful it really is. Snow has a wonderful way of bringing a much needed life-filled beauty to a cold and hard winter.
Luckily for me, I will not be missing out entirely on these memories. The next full day I spend here after tomorrow will be in December, when the ground is hard, the trees are bare, and the children anticipate the first snowfall with eager mouths wide open, tongues basking patiently to catch those first gentle snowflakes.
Until next time,