Sweeter far...

Home. I didn't realize how much I had missed it until I got there. I was flying this time, my first time back in three months. I watched the landscape changing beneath me, flying over the city, then the mountains, following the snaking freeway through Snoqualmie pass. Flat farmland of central Washington. And then, first subtly, then more definitely, the hills began to roll. I'm sure the feeling was partly because that defining change in landscape meant home was near and I would see my family soon, but part of it too was a deeper resonance. There is a part of me, however small, that is defined by the Palouse. By those rolling hills, the well known peaks, and the lifetime of memories that accompany them. As I saw the undulating farmland beneath me, my stomach tightened, and a small but sure well of emotion surged up within me. I was coming home. As I shared this with a friend this past week, he made the comment, "I miss missing home." It's true, there's something sweet about coming back to a place you have missed. You appreciate the time more. Well known spots seem dearer. Family time is sweet. I love being home, but I love missing it too.