I have lived away from my parents for almost three years now. Heart heavily burdened, I wallowed in self pity for the inception of my time miles away from the comforts of home, but at some point, when I saw leaves transform from celadon to auburn, and then when I felt the crisp autumn air, at some point in that first fall of my life, my worries vanished, as if blown with the leaves loftily through the winter air. A fresh bounce accompanied my every step, and I began to adapt to my new environment; I began to acclimate myself to calling this new setting home.
I speak to my parents, often enough, and I know they are just a phone call or email or instant message away; however, nothing can replace the comfort of my daddy's embrace or the repose offered by mom's gentle caress. When the bricks of life have been mortared and fixed upon my shoulders, for them to bear, I yearn to be there, in my parents' home, inhaling the aromas of familial love and that quiet understanding permeating the hearth, negating the requirement of conversation...
I confess...
There is no place like home.
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