Driving Home For Christmas

What ten years hadn’t changed was what was inside.

He was still looking for roots, for his place.

That was why he was heading back to Quiet Valley.

The road still twisted and turned through the woods, up the mountains and down again, as it had when he’d headed in the opposite direction on a Greyhound. Snow covered the ground,smooth here, bumpy there where it was heaped over rocks. In the sunlight, trees shimmered with it. 

Had he missed it?

He’d spent one winter in snow up to his waist in the Andes. He’d spent another sweltering in Africa. The years ran together, but oddly enough, Jason could remember every place he’d spent Christmas over the last ten years, though he’d never celebrated the holiday. The road narrowed and swept into a wide curve. He could see the mountains, covered with pines and dusted with white. 

Yes, he’d missed it.

Home for Christmas

_________________

Driving in my car
I'm driving home for Christmas
Driving home for Christmas
With a thousand memories

I take look at the driver next to me
He's just the same
Just the same