We’re hanging on the tail end of summer; some leaves begin to turn, and the mornings and evenings are cool. But middays are as hot as ever, and sweat slides down my back when I cross campus with my book bag.
I stood in line with some of my students for lunch today, a former student in front of me, and current students behind, and I’m realizing that I fit here, between the students, now, that they know me. I am glad.
Once I had a red-carpeted room, and before that, I had a red-carpeted church. Now I pull a red blanket over my feet at night, write with a red fountain pen.
I’m straining toward the autumn, eager for the crisp, the cool, the skipping steps and swirling leaves. Fall is the time when home becomes home and I love my world better than at other times.
The roads may be yellow and bricked, and the people may be all manner of fascinating, but in my mind I’m clicking red heels together — “There’s no place like home” — eager to remember that this, also this, is home.
Joining Lisa-Jo’s Five Minute Friday Flash Mob of writers today. If you’d like to join, click the button above!
©2013 by Stacy Nott