I think we are beyond the point. It is hard to tell before you get there but easy to see when you look back. We are beyond the point of the vacation. Or the travel.

As we see, in Hungary, for Mr Evening Tide the colors of chicken soup delivered the message. For me, the first frostfree breeze coming from the ocean two mornings ago.

Not that we are at Home. Obviously we feel the ties that are attached to our ankles, the ropes of family and friends that make sure we don't get lost. But we feel at home. No chicken soup here, friends. Don't come to the States if you want to have that luxury of old Sunday chicken soup. Could be the herbs. Could be the celery.

Hard to say what then. What ties you to a place? I guess, small things. The songbirds in the garden. The seagulls in the parking lot of the High School. The smile of the students. The jokes of your co-workers, the embraces of friends.

After 5 or 6 months you become a part of something. You count. You like your neighbours, who are not your neighbours. You like your job which is not yours. You dream in a language which is not yours from birth. You measure in miles, cups and pounds. (All right. No hope for understanding Fahrenheit ever. But that's not too bad.)

No, we are beyond the point of returning. Returning unchanged, I mean. As a friend said so well, 'coming back home is also going forward'. And true. We are half-way through but we are not going back, we are going forward.

Trackback address for this post::

Kommentek:

A hozzászólások a vonatkozó jogszabályok  értelmében felhasználói tartalomnak minősülnek, értük a szolgáltatás technikai  üzemeltetője semmilyen felelősséget nem vállal, azokat nem ellenőrzi. Kifogás esetén forduljon a blog szerkesztőjéhez. Részletek a  Felhasználási feltételekben és az adatvédelmi tájékoztatóban.