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I don’t write many posts in the first person sort of sense, but there is a time and a place for everything. Today when I woke up, the sky was gray, the ground was wet, and the fog was laying in patches on the hills surrounding the house. Now, it isn’t as if I believe any one place should lay stake to weather patterns and climate, but this morning as I looked out my window I could help but feel as if God had picked up Portland’s weather and stuck in on my mountain home. This is October, here we should have snow by now, but it’s been temperate, wet, and gray.

As the holidays fast approach, it is as if the smells and the sights from home are seared into my mind. I can smell my step mother’s breakfast on Sundays, I can smell the lattes aroma from the coffee shops I love, I can see my sister and I running like fools through Christmas tree farms like we’re still children, and most of all, I can see myself standing in my beautiful hometown, on the wet streets, watching the hardcore Portlanders letting their umbrellas swing at their side despite the rain coming down. I can feel the warm dampness of the bus and the train, crowded with friends who’s names I do not know. I can see the bricks in the Square reflecting the gray sky in their sheen of water. I can feel the scrabble chips in my fingers as I spend hours in a cafe with the boy I love making fifteen point two letter words.

Home. I miss you. Family. I miss you. Portland. I’m coming home.