Really, what is home? Four walls, a collection of memories,a soft place to land. At times, its edges sharply contrast
its soft perches.
A canvas, twinged with, and housing shadows of the past, creating
the future.
A place of
comfort, yes,
and pain.
Of all life's intricacies.
Beyond the structure of walls, floors
furniture on which to rest,
home parlays into our being.
A contradiction--a place to flee,
a place to return.
To arrive.
To be.
To start the day and
to set down the day,
your things,
your thoughts.
A new life.
A trance of expectations, met and forgotten.
A folding of laundry,
of ideals,
of traditions.
Mittens, snow covered
drying by the radiator.
Beach bags filled with half-full SPF 50 and
grains of sand.
Stories of fallibility and success sunken into
rafters and worn wood floors. Varied, shifting, dark, light and warm.
Wherever I am. Yes. Now is home. Does each past moment inhabit
a support beam, a concrete foundation,
a beloved painting?
Do new moments wait in the dust-bunny filled corners?
A long embrace,
a birthday celebrated,
a phone call answered.
Lives created,
hurts tumbled with their apologies,
soaring gratitude.
Bandaids and meals shared.
Reverberations of doors slammed,
equilibriums restored.
Open wine bottles and intimacies
recorded by the flickering warmth of the
candle light.
At times, confining, others comforting.
Home.
The embrace of familiar scents,
the embrace of lithe bodies once pudgy.
An echo chamber of words, hopes, fears, questions, dreams, detours.
Home.
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