I caught this image on a webcam this morning and it certainly brought back a lot of memories. Inevitably, after a wonderful week or two in the mountains, one has to pack up the car and head home. Left behind will be the sun-splashed peaks, the beckoning trails, the campfires and fish fries, the icy creeks, the sweet mountain air. Ahead lie the plains, the endless miles, the heat, and home.
Leaving the mountains, you keep watching in the mirrors or out the back window as they slowly fade into the distance, until finally, somewhere out east, they finally disappear and you settle resignedly into your seat. There’s a long, monotonous drive ahead.
Hours later, the pull of home begins to overpower the feelings of loss and it becomes, almost literally, a run for the barn. The last two hundred miles, in the dark, are all downhill, and eventually familiar lights begin to appear on the horizon.
Finally, some twelve hours after leaving that cabin in the mountains, you pull into your own driveway, exhausted but home. And somehow everything looks new again, different somehow, fresher, and yet so familiar.
Tomorrow you’ll see your best friend. And next week school starts! So much to do to get ready …