I had a plane to catch, but I couldn’t bring myself to get in the car. This was my home. The walls of that house hold so much laughter. The stalls of the barn are the keepers of patience. Hours would keep us as we awaited a new resident to the faded red barn. Hot days spent in the shade of the tree that rested in the middle of the field, or in the pond if not already claimed by the ducks. The countless days I would spend reading in the field or a tree as the breeze would play with my hair and the pages of my book. Now it was time to make new memories. Memories far away from here, and far from my family, but I will return one day. I looked back at my car and decided it was time to go. I’m coming New York.