Another Virignia day spent reveling on this sunny February morning, gifted between gray and storming winter days. Strolling the wooded path near Kayla's school, an epiphany alighted. Delightedly observing the awakening changes on this path discovered back in Autumn, I noticed not only the tiny leaf buds on the tips of the trees, but also the readied tree which the beavers chewed to point as well as an already fallen work. Their dam remained hidden as I scanned the tranquil lakeside.
A familiar scent tickled my memory, but did not reveal itself until the end of the trail. Oak. Having camped amidst coastal oaks in California, the indescribable scent reawakened. The California oaks which stand regally, but wide and dense. Here, however, the White Oaks stand tall fingered elongated leaves. Yet, oak is oak and the scent remains the same.
Comparatively, here I walk and live while 'transplanted' during our move to the east coast, yet still not settled...both feet here, but a home established back in California. We remain separated and scattered in this limbo, while Kylie and Mom reside at home in California. I stay with Kayla and our son-in-love, helping and awaiting the arrival of our grandson and Chris works and resides four hours north in York, Pennsylvania. Our houses and heart strings seem fractured.
However, as that aroma which first homesteaded in my memories thousands of miles away and decades ago attests-oak is oak. Therefore, I conclude that home is home no matter where I am transplanted, albeit temporary or otherwise.