Eric, Andrew and I caught a plane home to Pennsylvania yesterday. On average for the three of us, it has been two years, more or less, since we were here. Simply looking out the window, as the plane descends, at the rolling hills and rivers warms my heart. As we exit the Fort Pitt tunnel, "our city!" as the boys used to chime as toddlers, splayed out before us, welcomes like a dear old friend. Andrew pumps his fist in the air. Eric gazes out the backseat window. I get a lump in my throat every time.
Typical, I suppose, of late March, the landscape remains drab, draped in hues of chestnut and sepia, brave forsythia the only bright spots. At least the snow has melted. Mom tells me to look closely and I'll see buds on the trees. With warm weather, up to 80 degrees on Saturday, predicted for this week, the brown may burst into spring green before we leave next Monday. Lots to do before then, many friends and family to visit. The time will pass too quickly.