home is a funny concept.
I grew up in this beautiful place, surrounded by a family who loves me. I spent so many days standing at the kitchen sink, admiring the way the bright chartreuse rhododendron leaves stacked against blue-violet hydrangea blooms, against juniper green and the deep shock of crimson on the japanese maple. gorgeous today, but beautiful in all four distinct seasons.
but I haven't lived here in years, so is it still home? t used to get so exasperated with me when I lived in providence and would say I was "going home" or "home now" and he couldn't keep track of which "home" I was referring to. of course, home is this place - and it always will be. this will always be where I come from.
this evening, I got on a plane and flew home to georgia for the first time ever. it's all I could think about on the flight. I've visited so many times, and I've driven down twice (the most recent time being my move). but I was never coming home. this time, all my things are here. nothing about this is a visit. this is where I live now. this is home.
last summer. the crepe myrtle looks less like an exploding firecracker this year.
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