hot coffee and sunday morning on this fall weekend yields such longing for home. what is home? they ask on the wall of the Chinese American Museum in NYC. a place where you have come from... which forms who you are, how you see. the familiar, those who speak your language.

and so i miss home, cool crisp fall days and the brilliance of golden trees. i miss my grandma and word games on the kitchen table. i miss the horses behind my parents' house, and long walks with my brothers' dog through snow covered fields. i miss my mothers' simple cooking, in three pieces with sometimes a salad. i miss church with hymns and thanksgiving dinner with old friends. i miss the long old front porch with the church pew.