and she asks why i am returning to middle earth- i mean west. the middle west. and what can i say except that while i love that things grow all year round here, i miss the seasons and their reflection of life. and while i love the new, thick feel of the huge trees that grow natively, i long for trees whose leaves change colors, and fall in the autumn. (we won't even speak about the falsities of the palms.) i miss camping in real forests. i even miss the humidity, and snow. fireflies and lakes and the country, my piece of country, and storms. my body aches for a crashing rain and the brightness of lightning and the thunderbolt's crack almost as much as for the presence of my family, and their embraces. and old friends. and memories. and familiarity. and home.

i know a place that is full of light,
that is full of dreams and visions bright;
where pleasing fancy loves to roam
and picture me once m ore at home.

there nothing comes to mar my days,
and dim for me the sun's loved rays;
to shake my faith in things divine,
and bare the cruelty of mankind.

oh! that i to that spot might flee!
that peace and love might dwell with me
and brush away the somber shrouds,
and show the lining of the clouds!
-home, zora neale hurston (though, i must say, a little more giddy than i feel...)

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