The air smells differently in other places, she reminded me. I knew just what she meant the other morning as I stared down long lines of headlights. How often do they see a pedestrian in these parts? A runner that's not in the gym or on the special, designated paths? I thought about all those morning commutes, all those wheels, the windows and doors and metal that house their people everywhere they go.
I ran up a hill and thought, this is how it smells without oxygen.
I'm taking deep breaths and inhaling every detail in this once-home, now-destination. Seeing it with the eyes of one who has been away, pondering the places we come from, the places we go and the gallaxies that live inside that small word: home.