Homesick

It's funny how you miss a house. Not the town or the people - well, they are missed too - but I'm talking about when you miss a structure; the bricks, the floors, the smell. I feel organically attached to my home in Iowa. So much toil and tears were put into making that place sustainable and happy. And I suppose I felt we'd always be there, on those wood floors, looking out on that tiny lawn, awaiting the windy winter on the Plains.

Home is an anchor of sorts. Not the Anchor of all Anchors, of course, but one that matters is a smaller way. Perhaps this is hard today because we don't have a new home of our own yet. Soon.... soon.