There are roads in my town I drive every day. On autopilot I know the dips and the bumps, where to swerve and where to keep steady, where to slow for speed traps, where to speed up just a bit. These roads and adjoining scenery have seen me born, raised and raising my own. Gravel and asphalt and concrete, trees and power lines and the sign for the university which I clearly remember all the sudden becoming a real word as I hung my head out of my mothers car and sounded it out in a whisper for the thousandth time.
I have friends not from here and friends who have moved away and for the life of me I can't fathom ever leaving or not being from this place, this town, these roads.
I went to school for a couple years to Chicago where I hunkered down, trying to get a foothold on that anchor-less place. Never could I tell east from west, the north from the south, traveling underground and shooting up directionless on cold avenues with people everywhere who knew which way to go.
Intellectually I know that a town, a road, a place is not what makes a home but it crashes against what I feel, that this town built me and still holds me as I travel back and forth, block by block, leaving and collecting the children, fetching the things to sustain us over and over again. If I were to leave surely I would float away to some unknown place high above what grounds me? Or God would shoot roots through me, deep into whatever new ground I land on and I would continue to be carried through this life with only some falls and not too many tickets. I pray never to have to find out because this town that I live in, I love.