Homeward Bound

By Wendy A. Jones

I packed my children into our minivan a couple of days ago and hit the road.

After hours and hours of driving (and countless answers to the question, "When will we get to Grandma's?"), we arrived. Safe and sound and mostly sane.

In our settling in, I had forgotten something outside in the car. When I went outside to retrieve it, the sun had just set beyond the far mountains and there was an orange glow over everything like melted butter on a cob of corn (Idaho does the best sunsets). The sprinklers were spitting out a steady rhythm and the almost-constant rustle of leaves stirring on their branches was in the air.

I took a deep breath.

It smelled like home.

I breathed in deeply once more, then turned back inside to celebrate my mother's birthday.

It's good to be home.