this morning i rolled my suitcase to my new local metro, through the airport and onto a tiny regional jet to come home to the farm.  i glanced out the window between taking in swaths of color in Real Simple and beautiful prose in Image journal.  as we left dc, i saw the potomac lined with buildings, mansions, georgetown, then we flew over maryland with its huge clumps of trees and winding developments.  a while later, i glanced down to see more trees and mountains.  then, when i tired of my poetry, i looked out again to see the Midwest.  it rolled out ahead of me in neat squares, carefully drawn boxes of square-mile gray roads, filled in by plots of green and gold, punctuated with red barns and patches of trees.  the rectangles reminded me of mondrian and i laughed as we passed over familiar sights.  the two-lane highway with its large clover leaves and on-ramps marked two formative churches: one with a blue roof, the other sprawling with megachurch grandeur across parkinglots.  we passed a water treatment facility, something with a lot of antennae–noticeable because of the negative space around them, just like anything else.  i felt glad to be home, glad to be moving in on this area with tightly drawn boxes that is open and freer than where i live now.  glad to be back.