When I was a child, trips away from home were few and far between — such is life on a farm. But on those occasions when we would find ourselves arriving home after dark, the world seemed so much bigger than it did in daylight, and that first glimpse of home was always a comforting sight.* * * Returning Home On a Winter Night It was a long ride home in the white darkness — snow-covered fields illuminated by a bright full moon and glittering stars painted on the vast winter sky. The warmth inside the car was a sharp contrast to the crisp, cold, thirty-below outside. In the cold, the sky felt larger, the stars brighter and sounds could travel forever, or so it seemed. We were so small against the universe, as we drove along the snowy country road, in mid-December silence, with the echo of crunching tires ringing in the air like sleigh bells in a child’s imagination. And as we crested the hill, I lifted my sleepy eyes to see the silhouette of home, painted against the sky — a welcoming beacon in the night, calling out with ageless whispers through the dark. december 2004 ©Janet Reid
