I’ve been away visiting home. “How was your trip? Everyone asks. How was it being home?
I was at home. At my Sister’s house in California. It was the same, almost. Oh the small town has grown to a bit larger town, bulging at the sides, but it was in essence the same.
Now I’m at home in Northern Denmark. “How is it being home?” The people here ask. They also ask, “How was it being home?”
Today, I drove to my Sister in-law’s house. Along the motorway, while the Danish sun set in the West. Oranges and reds, the sky was filled with light. As I drove along the smaller highway toward her house, the sky lit the deciduous trees with the same colors. Orange leaves and yellow reflections. The ambient color remained even though the sun had set. I drove through the pine forests and thought about the larches losing their leaves. That wouldn’t happen in California, but then there are no larches there.
I drove along the Eastern side of California bordering on the Great Basin. The desert crept up to the edge of the mountains, taking its Sagebrush with it. The pines and the firs crept down the mountain sides ending in Quaking Aspen along the small brooks, and streams. If I had been home again, I might just experience the Aspens bursting out in the last yellows of the Autumn, quivering and shaking as if to say: “This year is gone away, gone are the greens and the long summer days, gone are the golden rays of sunlight, gone away”.
Here at home the Autumn has finally taken grasp of the Danish foliage. When I returned home, the Autumn had only begun its show with hints and whispers of things to come. I thought about being home with the California Sun giving way to the coolness of Autumn, spreading relief to the millions who have sweated through the long hot Summer, while here at home we drowned in a Summer which was rainy and cool. It wasn’t easy being home this year.
The evening sun is gone now, but the skies won’t let the spectacle rest. The reds give way to the evening purples, while the highway winds closer to my destination. I might just miss the smell of the Sagebrush and its pale green leaves, reminding me of my home, when it was my home, that is.
I explained to my Sister in-law, how the colors filled my mind and my eyes, as I drove to her house. I described the yellows and oranges, as if it were the first time in my life that I had experienced them like that. “How was it being home?”she asked as she made the evening meal. She didn’t seem to take notice of my fiery Autumn speech, or of the evening glow that still lit my face from the drive.
“Everything is as it was, as it is, so why worry about a few Autumn colors?” she might say.
“How were things back at your sisters’?” she asked politely, as if stirring the soup could tolerate news of my home, while it was being my home again.
I told of my experiences and of the things that I had seen. Being travelers themselves, they nodded politely, but interjected with , “It’s good that you are home again”.
Being at home in the Autumn of 2016, both Autumns and both Homes.
It is nice indeed…………….