Surreal as it was escaping the frigid whiteness that is Edmonton in February into the green, it is always nice to get home. The bed was too hard, or too soft, the food not quite right or inconvienient to find, the tv channels were all wrong and I could find no comfortable chair.
Being away from home is always, even when planned and longed for, just a bit uncomfortable – like an itchy pair of socks or a shirt with a tag at the back. There is a sense of lack of confidence of how the day will play out, a held breath, always waiting for something.
Upon return, a realization steals in that the monochromatic winter world offers a comfort and a sureity, despite the bite.
While placing my feet on the ground was pleasant, I think the gradual arrival of bare ground and slow melting away of barriers offers a gentler arrival – one designed for the fragile human spirit.