I drove home from work today with the windows down. The first true gusts of Autumn, full of the tingly promise of cool nights and crisp apples, lifted my hair off my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as curls became tangles. Golden early-evening sun bathed the prairie in rich light. Brisk currents led the bleached grasses in spritely dance. Horses lazily grazed on the last pickings of the season.
None of this changed the difficult circumstances I’d faced at work. Or the fact that I hadn’t slept the night before. And yet, somehow, my pulse slowed.
That prairie, that wind, that light.
It was home.
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