Dew dampens the grass, chilling my bare feet as I exit the car. The cool night air wraps around me; it may be Spring but the rain has kept the temperature down.
Stars pierce the night sky.
I pause despite the cold and stare up at them. Living in the city I don't get this view any more, and I've found that I miss it.
Edge past the wheelbarrow and rain-drum to reach the front stairs, which in turn lead to the small square front veranda. The smell of the house leaks out as soon as I open the door, familiar and reminiscent of my childhood. The feeling, of home and hearth and safety, washes over me.
As ever when I come home I slip into old routines.
Bags dropped in the exact same spot as I'd dropped them in high school.
Hand bag tossed on the over burdened table.
Immediate scavenge through the fridge to see if there's anything tasty.
Now, sitting rugged up at the dinning table, watching idly as the Dog tries to get attention, I see flickers of our past. In my mind's eye a different couch takes up the northern wall of the lounge room, a different TV sits atop the stand. My brother shrinks in size and my mother becomes less gray.
Change and Life and Death and Moving-on and Growing Up and Moving Out and Coming Home Again
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