A place to rest is home in the best sense, and foreshadows a better rest to come, a true sabbath.
It's nice to go home. Which in this case is East Tennessee. I'm actually a fifth generation Floridian, and there is something comforting about being there. The stars seem properly aligned, and the smells of citrus and salt awaken a primal sense of place. Shrimp fresh off the boat for Christmas dinner, a slice of… Continue reading Home again, home again