I’m sitting in my parents’ house in Durango, Colorado listening to and breathing in the most dramatic–and as my friend M would say–crackling rain storm. The sky has been working up to this all day, with breezy gusts and grumbles. As I was walking through the relaxed, green neighborhoods here, looking out over the rocky, forested ridges and plateaus of the river valley, the first heavy drops began to fall and I thought, This is my soul place. There is just *something* about the way my skin feels the air here and the smell of dry, desert air mixed with the sweetness of water that means h-o-m-e.
What means home to you?