Where am I?

Where am I?

Sometimes I'm in Colorado. I step outside my front door and look onto the green mountains, rising high above the houses. Teenagers play on a skate park in the sun and women walk by with their babies. The houses across the street shine - yellow, blue, green. The air smells clean when the wind blows by. The sky is an immeasurable blue, so brilliant that you can't take your eyes off of it. When the clouds pass, they are bright white, placed carefully against the blue background. This place is quiet, serene, comforting like home.

Sometimes I'm in England. When the rain falls the clouds aren't even that dark. The rain doesn't come down hard, but it comes down fast and steady, blanketing the streets, sidewalks and grass with it's cool liquid.

Sometimes I'm in a third world country. You drive down the city streets and see houses of all different shapes and colors. You see businesses tucked in the oddest spaces. There are no parking spots in the cities, you must fend for yourself or park on someone's property. Homeless men and women ride their bikes up and down the hills, carrying bags full of soda cans on their backs. The street names make no sense, and the directions to a person's house could be easily confused because their home has the same address as another's, but is hidden behind the first house. The tall condo skyscrapers and hotels that tower in the city are reminiscent of those you see in the movies filmed in Africa. It is cluttered, messy, and confusing.

Sometimes I'm right at home. Home is where I make my place, home is where I stay. It is comforting having this home for myself, a place where I can go to, that I know will be there, not matter if I'm in a different state or country. It is home and that's where I am.