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Winter comes. When most people dread it, I can't help but think about summer in my home.

Home, hours on a plane.

Home, where there are rolling green hills.

Home, where wildflowers grow wherever they can.

Home, where nettles are tall.

Home, where it is always showering with rain.

Home, where the small birds sing.

Home, where the shrews rustle around each evening.

Home, where I belong.

Home.