There's something really wonderful about that little patch of earth known as my hometown. It's got a little sense of magic that fills the air at sunset. There's a hill just on the edge of town, right as you're coming in on Route 66, and if the sun's setting, the entire city has a glow. You can see the outline of the Mill, the stoplights at a few intersections, and the McDonald's sign. You don't get to enjoy it for long, but if you've been lucky enough to catch it, then you know the feeling.
Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to be from somewhere else. What's it like to call another place home, to feel this sort of passion for another city in another state and maybe even another country? I've felt drawn to places and I'm in love with places, but it's nothing like coming home.
Whether it's been raining all day or there hasn't been a cloud in the sky, the sight of my hometown can really get to me. It's changed since I was little, but it's still the same. There's a new high school building, a hospital and two Starbucks locations (one of them is inside Target, but I still count it.) The thing about my hometown is not that it's physically magic or all that beautiful. It's more about the face that it's tied to my memories. I got my picture on the front town of the newspaper for sliding down the slide at the grand opening of the new children's park. I used to ditch my tutoring class once a week with my friend Katie and we'd go get donuts together. I played softball on the city's public fields for thirteen years. Names, faces, memories: they're all connected to this place. No matter where I end up in life, there's always going to be something for me here.
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