The Comin’ Home
I be leavin’
the comin’ home
After all these years, I still get a rush when I drive up the hill and see my home waiting for me. It’s especially sweet after a week or two away, but I still get that same rush just coming home from work.
The rougher the day, the sweeter it is to see the barn sitting there like a monolith waiting for me.
Kirk Judd’s poem (above) has resonated with me since the very first time I heard him recite it. I’ve already waxed rhapsodic about how I love West Virginia, but if I’ve left any doubt, I love this pile of wood just as much. (Some would say in defiance of all reason.)
Last night, coming home from work, I was tired and cranky. Just seeing the barn lit up like a Thomas Kincaid painting lifted my spirts. Even the fact that the door had blown open didn’t dampen my spirits. The comin home feel so good.
Where is that place that you go to that provides the sense of peace and comfort? The cocoon that shelters you from Real Life?