A month ago, I took a long drive to see the trees of Middle Fall, and as I traveled, I paid attention to the way I missed home and summer, and I thought about what caused the discomfort at leaving both behind. Since my wife died five years ago, I have tried to understand how to come to terms with home. I have become overly attached to the place where I live and to my story contained in its rooms and gardens. It is hard for me to go away. On the other hand, once I am on the road and look closely