Dear Texas:

Goodbyes are always hard.
Even when you're prepared to say them.
Even when "goodbye" is what you've been working toward....

In 24 short hours I will back out of my driveway
in the city that sounds like phlegm
one final time.
I'll whiz through the toll lane,
and I'll watch the hill country disappear in my rear view mirror.

In 72 hours I will hear gravel crunch beneath my tires
as I pull into my childhood home.
I'll smell rain on the breeze,
and the promise of fall.
Friends.
Family.

Home.

Texas has been good to us, this past year and a half.
Well, except for the fire ants.
And the excessive heat.

We have seen the pink quartz of the Capitol building,
played at Zilker Park,
had lunch at the Trailer Park Eatery,
dined on the finest BBQ in the nation,
(that would be Salt Lick BBQ for those who aren't familiar).
We have driven past the sign for Luckenbach
and out to Fredericksburg.
Shopped the outlets at San Marcos,
and watched Shamu's show in San Antonio.
I even looked for the basement at the Alamo.

We have swam, outdoors, in December
and built snowmen in February.

I am going to miss this place.
Crazy politics and even crazier driving and all.
It is not home,
I do not believe it ever pretended to be,
but it sort of fits.
Like a pair of perfectly worn cowboy boots.
The ones that sit in your closet most of the year,
untouched,
but when you need them
they are there.
Ready.
Molded to every curve of your foot.
Perfect.

Thank you, Texas.
For being wonderful enough for us to enjoy our time here.
I'll see you again in December.

Cheers,
A