A walk after dark tonight. It’s 86 degrees with a hot restless wind rising off the street. Sounds of air conditioners and fans. Front doors and windows wide open. Few voices though.
The local news reported a rangeland fire burning south of Boise. So early in the summer for fires. Usually don’t hear the water transport planes droning overhead until late July and August.
While writing today, was contemplating different meanings of "home." Going home, coming home? Home is where the heart is? Feeling at home? If you had a ticket to travel "home," where would you want to be at the end of your journey?
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Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.
--John Ed Pearce
I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.