I am almost insanely excited about visiting…the Midwest.
You don’t read much nostalgia for the endless flat land, the sky that goes on forever like the sea. The straight roads plaiding the countryside in orderly sensibleness broken only occassionally by the river roads which wend like ribbon, parallel to the water. There are few people wistful for driving the endless miles of eastwest, blurring past corn and soy, slowing down only for Amish buggies and the Dar-i-Twist.
Part of me seems to lie dormant when I’m outside Indiana. I run just fine, like a cell phone off the charger, but that extra juice–the jolt of being Home–kicks in once I get back.
I never planned to leave, but life being what it is sometimes the plan gives way to a different story, like turning pages in a book–on the next chapter. Whichever chapter I’m in, though, I hold the heft of those first pages in my hand like a comforting weight which keeps me grounded.