It’s in the sound of the coyotes singing the night away. It’s in the feel of the warm air wrapping around you as you step outside. It’s in the sight of wildflowers blooming like crazy. It’s in the taste of watermelon fresh from the field. It’s in the smell of a mesquite fueled fire.
Home is not a fancy place. It’s not upscale, in fact it’s rather rundown. Things seem to break as often as they work. Home is not a place that my mother is proud of. But it’s home.
B supplanted my ties to home. He dug up my roots and gave me his love. But now we have no roots but each other. The military sends us where they will, when they will. We really don’t get a say. And now they’re moving us further from home.
My ties here have been cut. I don’t feel like I really belong anymore. I’m waiting for us to move to our next home together. Unfortunately, feeling this rootless makes me more homesick for the most permanent home I’ve ever known.
I miss home.