The frigid air seems to seep through my truck's exterior. The heat turned up to maximum fan setting, set to Vent, just the way I like it. Numbness in my toes starts to ebb away, which makes driving an easier task. The music blares as my truck goes hurtling down the road. I pass through a town in about 5 seconds, a string of red lights blur on my passenger side window. I look in the mirror and watch as a poor soul sways to and fro all the while struggling to find his car keys and walk a straight line at the same time. Up ahead, I spot something familiar, four silos on the right.

So begins the journey home.

2 Rights. 2 lefts. Follow the road as it curves.

And then I'm on the road that I grew up on. Every person that lives on this road I'm related to, except for one. I say road because the road is past a mile long and there are only 5 houses on it.

Home for me is a way-over-the-hill home that was the center of Stonington before the Railroad came through. These walls stood during Lincoln's age, still they stand in the Age of Sam. I turn right into my driveway and an island of grass shaped like an ice cream cone greets me. As always this reminds me of Home Sweet Home, because really what's sweeter than ice cream? It's appropiate for when I leave home as well. This little island cries for me each time I leave home.

The wind has died down and it's the refreshing type of cold out. The moon illuminates the fields of dirt that lie close to my home. Soon they will become fields of corn and soy beans. A little bit farther off, the trees always paint the horizon for me. The treetops remind me of mountainscapes for some reason. I tuck my truck in for the night and just outside for several minutes, basking in the beauty of my home. I walk around my garage to the backyard. The maple tree that serve as me and my siblings' s tree house. It ties with my house in height, but I don't think it grow much taller. It's not just one tree, it's like 5 trees grown together. I think back on picnic that I had with my brother and my sister up in the treehouse. I stand on my faded red back porch and watch as a pair of skunks scuttle by. I turn around and I open the mostly glass door to my house. I've passed through the threshold a millions times now and I can't convey to you how wonderful it feels being home. 18 years I have known these walls. They have protected me from the rest of the world. I know this place won't be my home for a longer period of my life. I go on and begin to build my own home for my own family one day. Settle someplace out where the stars shine brightly on an unclear night in April.