A Vermont Homecoming

I enjoyed my drive up from the village immensely. The air was chilly, the colors on the hillsides intense. Beside the road the horses played in their pastures, the sheep milled around and the cows grazed. The more distant ridges were visible on account of many leaves already having fallen. As the road led upward, and as the light got dimmer, I could sense my house getting closer. The more narrow dirt road which leads off of the main road was bordered by thick piles of red and yellow and orange leaves. The old house which sits watch on the top of the hill above the main road stood out, black, against the setting sun, which had begun to drop below the orange and red ridge to the west. I followed the stonewall along the large pasture at my neighbors' house, passed the other neighbors' barn and began the last climb up to my house. Then through the trees, which were missing leaves, I caught sight of the house...perched up on the hill...then coming around the turn in the driveway to see the house standing there before me. The lights were on, and smoke was wafting up from the chimney. Immediately there were people coming out of the door to greet me. The two cats walked up, twinning themselves around my ankles, getting fur on my traveling clothes. I picked up one and snuggled him close to my face, and breathed in his fern-like smell. And soon I was inside, where it was warmer. There is nothing like coming home, yet being in this warm, safe place made me miss the people who weren't there with me.