The grass was cool and damp, too damp, really, to be comfortable. But she was. Well, no- not comfortable. Home. Home was the word. The feeling of being right where one should be. Of finding things in place, and oneself in place among them.
She lolled her head back and forth on the soft surface of the ground, reveling in the feel of the individual blades of grass shifting underneath her. She inhaled, letting the scent of dirt and musty herbs invade her nostrils. The scent brought back memories of summer afternoons spent leaping over sprinklers and deep, shady dreams under the maple trees in her backyard.
It was the kind of memory that had mapped itself not in her brain, but in her bones. She felt it, rather than recalling it. And let herself sink deeper into it, into the lovely moment of peace.