Just Shelley

A winter evening

Gary awakened in me a nostalgia with his compelling description of a cold afternoon and a wait for a ride home:

She’s here. One minute early, you smile and grab each other closely by the arm for warmth and then briskly walk off into the crowd telling tales of the day. Before long you’ll be home, eating, living, loving, safe. Warm.

Perhaps I’m worn down a bit by the heat and humidity of my new home, but the thought of cold, brisk air appeals to me. Tonight I feel oddly homesick for the home I had in Vermont. For the home I had in San Francisco. For the home I had in Boston. For the home I had in St. Louis before things changed. For Gary’s home.

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