As I write this blog post, I am sitting on the front porch of a gorgeous Bed & Breakfast in Indiana. The sun has risen and cars are starting to fill the street outside. Every now and again, a cool breeze sweeps across the porch lifting the corners of the papers stacked beside me. It is the third day of this writing retreat, and my fingers fly over the keyboard releasing my words into the air. Writing. It feels like home to me.
Later today I will load my luggage into my car and make the two hour drive back to Illinois. A kiss from my husband will welcome me home, and I am sure to be greeted with hugs and tales of the adventures that took place in my absence. Thoughts of Maddie and Katie flit through my mind, fleeting as the cool breeze. Images – Maddie’s missing teeth, Katie’s wild hair, Maddie curled up on the couch with a book, Katie lost in some imaginary world with her dolls – images so familiar, so much like home for me, I don’t even have to see them to see them.
The images of my family float away on the breeze, and I glance at my computer screen. I smile, caught between these two worlds, both of which feel like home to me.