Last summer, I stayed in Illinois with my parents for two months.
I don’t think I’d ever seen poppies in person before. These flowers were in someone’s yard, and I had to walk up their driveway fairly close to the house to take the photo. I felt nervous!
This crab apple tree is in my parents’ yard. The tree has been there since I was kid. I remember climbing it when I was very young, then becoming disappointed with climbing it as I grew a little older. Maple trees are better for climbing.
Does anyone know what this plant is? So pretty. I’d never seen one before, or at least I couldn’t remember having seen one. The plant was pretty big. A bush.
Being in Illinois for two months was nice. I liked staying somewhere that I have history, that feels familiar. Still, it doesn’t necessarily feel like home. Nowhere does. Does that matter? Shouldn’t we care about all places, and not just those that we think of as “ours?”
I’ve been ruminating on the idea of “home” quite a bit. I adore Minneapolis, but it doesn’t feel like “home” yet either. Have I rambled about this topic here before? I believe so. Maybe the whole earth is my home? Maybe the whole earth is all of our homes.