The rain chased us in as we sped across the prairie. And I remembered how much I love a Texas thunderstorm. Strong and earthy, waking up the smells of a grassland. If I could bottle the scent of sagebrush and prairie grass after a storm, I think I’d feel at home wherever I went.
It’s the kind of place you appreciate more when it isn’t your everyday. For most people, it is an unremarkable piece of land on a long drive to somewhere else. But for me it is a place to simply be.
Sometimes coming home is complicated. I feel torn, unsettled, unmoored. Caught somewhere between two worlds. But this time I just feel like I’m home.
And it’s good.
It’s been a year, but nothing has changed…
The sky is still smokey gray blue after the rain. My favorite color.
The wheat stubble is still vibrantly golden – as if lit by an inner light – in the aftermath of a storm.
The sunset still spreads across the horizon – reaching pink and purple fingers into the furthest reaches.
The stars still spill across the night sky – dizzying in their depth and number.
It’s good to be home. Breathing deeply and seeking solitude in this quiet place… it is good for my soul.