I wait patiently for Peter to arrive at the Starbuck’s near the CU campus. He’s got a math test right now, and I wait to offer condolences or congratulations, as applicable.
Hard to believe I’m going to be home for a while. It’s rather a strange place to me now and has gotten me to wonder what, exactly, is a home? I like Robert Frost’s definition of, “It’s something you hadn’t to deserve.” (That’s in Home Burial, for you picky poetry geeks.)
But beyond Frost’s definition, what? It simply has to be more than a building where all your stuff is.
white pebble 