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Springtime is a mischevious season.  Just when you think the onslaught of cold weather has abated, just when you're peeling off a layer in the meek but promising sunlight, a cold blast hits you with a wintry ferocity and your optimism is dashed for another while.  I started today Wearing a single fleece over my polo shirt.  I finished the day wearing three fleeces and a body warmer.  My hands were aching in the cold air and my feet were numb in my colder wellies.  I never was so glad to get back home tonight.

I have to go to Limavady tomorrow to check on a WiFi installation I did at a large Country estate.  Going up that way is bitter-sweat for me because its still home in my mind.  Home becomes a hard thing to define.  Its primarily a house, but it can also be a town, an area, or even an entire country.  I would say my idea of "home" has changed over the past few years.  My radius has increased a lot, but I still cast a nostalgic eye back to the places that have an emotional significance for me.  Maybe that's the binding force that keeps people in a certain area - nostalgia.  Otherwise we might Float off all over the place.



This post first appeared on Home, please read the originial post: here

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