Welcome home

I've always loved the instant when you're driving at night and all of a sudden in the distance you see the lights of the city you can't wait to get to. My family spent a year being nomads and so I got quite used to getting in the car, eating wafer cookies, falling asleep and waking up hours later to watch the orange lights getting closer across the horizon.

Tonight as the bus got closer to town, I imagined the lights were talking to me. They were so excited to see me they didn't let me get a word in.

"Welcome home," they said. "We've missed you. How was your trip? Not too long, I hope. Would you like some pie or iced tea or shortbread cookies? If you're too tired out from your trip, your room is ready for you down the hallway. I've turned down the sheets and laid out fresh towels for you. Good night dear. We'll have to get caught up on everything in the morning. Shall I tuck you in?"

Those lights, I love them. They seem like home to me -- like family, like my grandma standing on the front steps inviting us into the house or like my parents waiting for the bus pull in.