Today I love rolling home over miles and miles of black top roads that cut through fields and forests, that zoom under highways and fly over streams and rivers and soar across the terasphere taking me here and there to see this and that and always closer, closer to my front porch, my front yard, my wicker chair and my keyboard that connects me to you and lets you know that even though I’ve been traveling for what seems like forever with people who don’t care for the scenes and the sights and the places and the children and teens playing games at the edges of these winding ribbons of history and stories of transience, I am safe home once again and here to tell you that I am so pleased to let you know that. I love that our little car that seems too huge when parked in our driveway and yet so microscopic when it’s in the middle of five lanes with 18 wheelers to port and starboard and fore and aft is such a sturdy and resilient wonder and has brought us home safe and sound. I love that it cares nothing about how important or trivial our reasons for traveling are, it just waits quietly for the turn of the key and then moves out into traffic as surely as if it had decided to go to our destination all on its own. I love the open road, but the part I love the best of it is that it always returns me home.
Today I love that the tomatoes are ripening faster than we can eat them and that is fine because in a very short while when we are too embarrassed to pretend that we can keep ahead of them we will clean and chop them and put them into a pot with the requisite additional ingredients and they will find themselves in jars, waiting for a winter need such as the longing for a home made pasta sauce and then we will remember Summer fondly and talk of her bounty in terms that would make her blush were she to hear us.
Today I love that I am feeling better than I have felt in a few days, though I’m tired from the road and may challenge my assertion that I am unable to nap in the daytime. I love memories of cold sugary drinks in the hot days of my childhood summers poured from frost coated glass pitchers from the old dome topped McLaren refrigerator that rumbled along for forty or more years. I love talking with children at the dinner table and if I had my choice I’d sit at the children’s table always, can I please? Thanks.
Today I love sitting happily on the front porch, drinking coffee and listening to the echo of the rumbling road behind me as it slowly disappears from my day and takes up its journey in my memory only … for now.