Monday, May 19, 2014

spring evenings

as much as I love going away, coming home is nice, too.

You slip back into routine almost without thinking about it, and the house just fits you like a glove. The stairs creak in all the right places, you step nimbly around lego on the living room floor, and the dog is never underfoot the way he is when you're at someone else's house.
(actually, that's a bit of a lie. Sometimes he always seems to be underfoot, but tonight he's on the couch and out of the way.)

Being away from home satisfies the wandering itch inside you, soothes the part of you that rages against the familiar four walls, but coming home... is like the silence after a storm, two completely different kinds of beauty and wonder to suit two completely different moods.

And as you sit, knees tucked under your chin, a finished book and a cup of tea sitting warm inside you, you imagine the evening hanging like a solitary dewdrop the second before it falls from a leaf. Warm, and full, and perfectly clear. Undisturbed and peaceful.

You think - how wonderful it is to have places to go, and people to see, countryside spinning by the car windows, but how simply nice it is to come home.


4 comments:

  1. beautifully written! as fun as travelling can be, home will always have my heart.

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    Replies
    1. I feel exactly the same way. :)

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  2. I love how you write your posts. And yes, I agree. There's just something safe about coming home and coming back to familiarity.

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  3. oh wow i love this!

    Sarah
    imsarahgrace.blogspot.com

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