Those Pale Colors

The sun steps through the glass window, giving this pale little room some more pale color. Ridiculous, nauseating chatter drifts to my corner of the room, pushing its way through my ears, however hard I try to block it out. The dull page flickers away for a moment, revealing a spectacular image of rural Germany. I see a wet grey sheen coating the folded earth. Cuddling in the pocket of this ripple is a town of red roofing, all huddled together to escape the chill of rain.
As for me, I am atop the peak of a tall, round hill, skipping over slick piles of mud that are trying with all their might to be a road. The powerful wind throws frantic raindrops into my face. Ahead, my parents refuse to face defeat by the wind and rain. Like fools, they continue their efforts in battle. How pathetically easy it is for the wind to jerk their umbrellas about, batting them like amusing little toys.
Slowly, I begin to see myself falling behind the group atop this vast hill, and I watch myself toss my ragged umbrella, which is doing me no service, into the wind, letting it soar out of sight, toppling through the skies at the wind's delight. I shake my skin from its cold coat of water and face the bleak sky with impossible joy. I spin 'round and 'round until I can spin no more, until my vision pulses and flows in a dizzy gaze. I am so happy to be here, among the fields of German harvest and the herds of bleating sheep. Anywhere but Oklahoma.
Blinking back into my pale little corner, I sigh with my crushed joy and I hear the echoes of those fantastic times in rainy Germany. For a blissful moment I had been able to re-capture my sense of home, knowing I myself was embedded into that rain, that earth, that red little town. A sense of belonging, a sense of home. My despair came from knowing I had been home for a mere 5 days in my lifetime. And, so my story goes. I live to this day among the idle chatter, the burning gasoline, and the pale colors. I live in Oklahoma.