I’m driving steadily down the two lane highway that curves and twines its way to freedom. I have long lost sight of the gentle swaying of the fanciful trees that reach the point of no return. The trees stood towering and straight touching the fluffy clouds. The West Virginia Mountains are no longer my home.
South Carolina is where I call home now, with a highway that is smooth, even and straight. A place that can be seen for as far as the eye can behold. Open Country and grass land on each side. Meadows that are a home to croaking frogs, chippings crickets, and hopping bunnies.
I walk the dirt and pebbly path that is traveled past my house to a babbling brook. The cool flat stones against my feet remind me of smooth ice cycles. I dip my feet in the flowing water and close my eyes to listen to the sway of the grass. The trickle of the water and mud as it squishes between my toes. After a while I walk the path back to my patio and I take a seat. I have found a new place to call home. How a place that reminds me of a prairie land can give me that warm feeling of my beloved Mountains.