I wrote this book to come home again. I hope reading it brings you home too. I hope it drives you down the backroads with golden sun slanting through the pines. I hope it makes you leap every crack in a sidewalk filled with ghosts of chalk drawings. I hope it walks you over these fallen words like crisp leaves. I hope it fills the air with scents of old climbing roses and oatmeal cookies fresh from the oven. I hope it fills your plate with the bittersweet flavor of tangy sourdough, the hardest crust giving way to a soft, soaked heart. I hope it hands you memories to sip from your favorite mug, given by your favorite person. In short, when you step into this book, I hope you come in through the back door.