Inching Out of Bed Looking for Home

The clock shouts. I turn it off and wait.

I listen for snow even though I know you can't hear flakes falling.

The flurries promised by the meteorologist (the one who smiles too big and let me down last week) will start at 9:00 am. It's 4:47 am. I slide out from under my bulky, down comforter and lift the blinds, nothing.

I crawl back into bed and will the white stuff to appear.

It's the game I play again and again.

This is what happens when a Midwest girl turned Coloradan ends up in the South. I search out qualities  reminding me of home. Home isn't my pink house, townhome, apartment, or tiny blue dwelling at the end of a cul-de-sac. Sure, I've lived in all, but as I get older, I see home in things instead of places.

It's friends who follow the wrong bus around for an hour and a half because your kid was misplaced. It's the smell of cinnamon, dreary days, all bodies of water, Hawaiian Tropic Sun Tan Oil (the kind with no SPF), and snow.

It's the reason why when my seven minutes of snooze is up, I will inch out of bed and lift the blinds again.

I'm searching for a little bit of home.

Skiing on the Blue Ridge Parkway

Cross your fingers, friends. The schools just cancelled. Bring it.

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A crew of us took the challenge to write for five minutes without worrying if it's just right. No lingering on words, no worries about mistakes. This week's prompt: again. Click here to find other word lovers scratching out ideas about the word "again".

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