Where home smells like spring in Provence

Here the air smells like lavender, mixed with a hint of sage, the scent drifting up off a candle-diffuser sitting in the windowsill.  I am finally wrapped up in clean clothing that smells like my own detergent instead of my mother's.  I can sit at my own desk once more, surrounded by books cherished like the good friends they have been to me, with familiar mountains out my window and a cup of my favourite tea, as my cat plays hide and seek in the roll top of my new desk.  In short, I am home.  In short, it is wonderful.

Room by room, and bag by bag I unpack and tuck away the evidence of the holidays spent in Edmonton with friends and family, a city that does not feel like home, and hasn't since I left, but is filled with people I miss dearly.  While there, I had thought that maybe I wouldn't mind going back, but I also realised that as much as I miss them all, my life is here now, and I have faith that this is where I am meant to be at this point in my life.  

I came back with suitcases laden with merino, alpaca, and silk yarns, and the cutest little knitting snowman I think I have ever seen. I had wine from my father, food from my mother (who was cleaning out her cupboards, and I think occasionally forgets just how far away I live.) I had some clothing from boxing day sales, and linen tea towels from my stocking that clean glassware just perfectly.  I am grateful for all of this, and even moreso for all the laughter and smiles shared with everyone (especially my nieces and nephew who could not be more adorable if they tried!)  Yet all of these things get tucked away, bit by bit, piece by piece, until they blend seamlessly with my space and my memories, and so be it.  

Christmas is over, and the New Year dawns, small as that may be.  It is not the liturgical new year, already a month gone, or the academic new year, already a full semester done, but the new year nonetheless, so now, as I pack up and put away the remnants now past, I plan and look ahead to what becomes of them, and me, and this life I lead in this flat that smells of lavender and sage, and this city that weeps grey rain over green grass and blue sea.