“Now, on this road trip, my mind seemed to uncrinkle, to breathe, to present to itself a cure for a disease it had not, until now, known it had.”
― Elizabeth Berg, The Year of Pleasures
I’ve been in the city so long this last stay. It was necessary. Bert needed surgery. Then Harry. I needed doctors, and treatment. Somehow the few days I had planned for became so many more than that.
But finally, last night, we came home.
We set out from the city in the early evening, to miss peak hour traffic.
The roads were quiet. We turned the radio off. The dogs snuggled into each other in the back seat and went to sleep.
When we left the city behind the sky became luminous with stars, and beneath us the tyres hummed along the asphalt clocking up the miles to our farm’s front gates. Flanked by forests and fields we drove through the darkness. With every mile I felt my body soften and relax a little more.
As we turned off the main highway onto the winding backroads of home we rolled down the windows and the chilly autumn air rushed in. The dogs stirred sleepily, ears alert, noses twitching.
There it was. The familiar scent of damp soil and sweet grass. A hint of cow. Occasionally a sharp stench of eucalypt-scented koala piss.
The night hung heavy and still above us. The trees closed their canopy over the narrow road. Almost home.
A large tawny frogmouth stood sentinel at our front gate, staring at us a moment before she beat her wings noisily as she lifted off and soared away.
We clattered up the long drive, our headlights making everything unfamiliar in their uneven light. Tired as we were, we all lit up with excitement.
We were home.
I could hear the cows calling from down by the river. The night was filled with the sound of koalas and possums and frogs. Sweet music to my homesick ears.
The house was silent and cold for only a moment. We all rushed in, turning on lights, putting down bags, turning back covers, making noise where there had been none.
But soon enough we were tucked up in bed, lights out, house dark again, everyone happy and ready for sleep.
So good to be home!
10 thoughts on “Coming Home”
What a wonderful post…once again 🙂
Just love Cauldrons and Cupcakes xxx
I used to live in byron bay. A wonderful time in my life. I love your words. So real. Can smell and feel them. Love cauldrons and cupcakes. 💛💛💛
Beautiful description, I felt as though I was there, pinched myself and found it is Spring in Champagne, France! Take care.
The imagery was palpable. And the photo of the Milky Way is stunning with the cows. Almost surreal! Wishing you all well.
Have a nice coming home. I like it when you speak about seasons, here in Europe it’s Spring time and in Australia, fall.
Ah! Contentment. How blissful and sweet. I absolutely love that last image of the Milky Way. If you get to see it as in the picture….well you are so blessed!
I love your interpretation of coming home . I am struggling with my new home at the moment what felt like freedom now feels like prison . Today I am going to try to undo the knots that are binding me . Reading your post has help thank you .
Home Again. Home Again, Jiggedy Jig! Love love love the pic of the cows silohouetted against the milky way! Please tell me you have that same view from your farm! How awesome is that?!
Lovely imagery – I could feel myself coming home as I read your description, and I’m sitting at my kitchen table in the city. Being greeted by a tawny frogmouth is pretty special.
Hi Nicole, I am proud of you and your rant! You go girl. Sarah x