I’m home. Or at my parent’s house, I should say. They live in Maine where life is easy. Their house is tucked away on a country side road, ten minutes from the beach, ten minutes from the city, and ten minutes from absolutely nowhere. Their old farm house is surrounded by fields and flowers and fruit trees, and in the morning the golden grass is wet with dew. I feel like I’ve come home to a safe haven, where I can cry and laugh and yell, and no one can hear me. When I’m laying in bed with the windows open, all I can hear is the hum of crickets and the chirp of baby birds. So I never feel alone and everything feels so alive, in a completely different way.I’ve spent the past 24 hours embracing the simple things.
Wearing my mom’s big quilted LL Bean jacket while sipping tea on the back porch. Sleeping under the arched eves of a cozy yellow bedroom. Padding around on the lawn with no shoes or sandals. Watching birds on the feeder, the sun rise in the morning, and my dad mow the lawn in the afternoon.