The day out there reminds me of England - sky overcast, tree trunk damp. It's been a long time since I've seen rain and I miss it. The brown grass is the big give-away that it's dry in these parts. The birds chortle their songs calling out that Spring really is on its way. I think blithely about Spring in England - the green grass with little bulbs pushing up life through the sod, the flower extending its petals under the diffuse sunshine. The straight stemmed daffodils like swathes across the gardens, their fragrance heady. These things I miss. I no longer smell the faint aroma of salt in the air, nor feel the humidity against my skin, nor live under overcast skies. My jokes are rarely understood, my accent confuses, my name requires constant clarification. Cars are grander, houses are bigger, refrigerators are bigger, portions are bigger. Life moves faster, people work harder. This is now my home and yet this is not my home. Neither is England my home. I am just a pilgrim on this earth until I get to my real home, home with the One who has prepared a place for me. That is where I will be fully at rest and at peace. In the meantime I breathe in the high altitude air, live under the blue skies and gaze on the grandeur of the mountains. This is where He has planted me and it is good.


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