Homesickness

I remember being amazed at how big the sky was my first night in the deep south. The stars seemed further apart, though jut as many. I noticed everything of that type and found it interesting how the northern and the southern ends on the country were so vastly different parts of the same body. After all this time, these new traits are how it is.
I am homesick- maybe for the place, maybe for the wild eyed child I was in my hometown, but I am homesick.
I miss the angle of the sunrise on the first day of spring.
I miss forsythia and lilacs, Lily of the Valley.
I miss the echos of voices and water in the gorges and the blackness of the deep lakes in the height of summer.
I miss the sounds and shots over the cornfields as summer turns to fall, like a calling to the end of the season.
I miss the scent of hickory and oak leaves crushed under my feet in autumn.
I miss the smell of snow and eerie brightness of a full moon reflecting off fresh snow drifts.