My dad still lives in the house where I was born. Dr. Huber, our neighbor, delivered me. He's gone, although his house still looks about the same. Someday, probably sooner than later, my dad will go too. My dad's house looks as it has always looked. The gardens are immaculate. The house is tidy and well cared for despite that the kitchen was last remodeled in the mid-sixties. (I know this for a fact because I have pictures of my 7th birthday party with the remodel in progress.)
The weather is gray and drizzly and my thoughts are heavy and dark and even though I had a goal of finishing my novel this week it's hard to write a light, fluffy novel with witty characters who banter and kiss when I wonder what I'll find here when I next return.