Home for the Holidays

What is home? Home, as I was reminded walking out to my car Christmas eve, is the way the moonlight washes blue over the snow and how the train sounds in the distance, the way the snow smells and the wind sounds blowing through the barren trees--home has a quiet and a beauty all its own, and it is like no other place on Earth. It is the squirrels and the streetlights and the smell of the fire that comes from every house and no house but has always been there. And my family is there. Home is where I was sick for most of my trip and lied on the couch watching TV for three days, but if you have to get sick, you might as well do it when you are visiting your mother. Home is where taking care of her sick son is like riding a bike, I guess, because she's still got it. I did not get out much, but it was nice not to run around like a mad man for once, and it was nice just to be "home," really home, for once. So nice that I stayed an extra day to actually spend with my parents. I miss them. My only regret is that I didn't get to spend much time with my sister and niece.