Homesick

If there is one time of year when a heart that is in exile yearns for home, that season is autumn.  Perhaps it is related to the gathering-in associated with late summer and fall.  When the days begin to shorten and there is that certain slant of light that signals the end of summer, the roots that are hidden deep in the soil of home begin to stir and pull me home.  
Yesterday there was a loud cacophony of crows in the neighborhood and the sound instantly transported me to the dry autumn feel of the farm.  The high, cloudless blue skies, the slightly dusty scent of the air as the crops dry out, the translucent quality of the sunlight, the sight and sound of birds flocking in preparation for their long migration - the memories of these things are hard-wired into my brain.  I long for the smell of the last tomatoes ripening on the vine, the sight of wild sunflowers billowing on the creek bank and the dogs and horse slumbering in the autumn sun out in the pasture.  
I stopped at the pet store this morning to get litter for my city cat.  The sign on the door announced "Pets Welcome!"  As I walked up to the check-out a man came around a corner with a huge Great Pyrenees dog on a leash.  My heart leapt.  I got down on my knees to greet this gentle giant and love him up, burying my hands and face in the familiar fur.  Seeing him was enough to open a great chasm of homesickness that threatened to undo me.  As I drove away there was a huge lump in my throat. 
One thing I've learned in my wanderings is that it is foolish to forfeit the present by longing for the future or the past.  But I've also learned the power of a dream.  I'm thankful that we have a home that we love so deeply back on the farm and I cherish the dream that we'll be there again some autumn.  My roots are pulling me back.