I missed Five Minute Friday yesterday, so it's a Five Minute Saturday Morning, if ya don't mind. Linking up to Gypsy Mama, to just write for five minutes and not worry about whether it is just right. Grace.
It is too far. I am too far. And I wonder if it will ever feel like home.
Home that is 2200 miles away and then some. Home in the hearts, too, that are so far from here. Home because I fit there and it is like me and I am like it. Home because my heart-seeds are scattered there and heart-songs sing there like the fog and sunshine and the very day.
And I am far removed.
This distant place… this new landscape… is many things but it hurts to call it home. It feels like treason to find home here… yet. Here, where April scorches hot and flowers wither from lack of rain and salty ground-water thick with chlorine. Here, where today we will splash in pools while those at home will re-wrap neck scarves and breathe into hands to warm icy fingertips. Home is cold and ice now and most days I feel the chill, even here in this searing sun.
And yet, what is home? Really? Don’t I have all the proper makings of it, here? Aren’t my children hugged and husband kissed and prayers whispered and bed made and coffee drank here? Isn’t home simply that: Being wherever you are?
I used to think I could bring home along with me, pack it up tight and carry it around inside, but some days I’m not sure. Some days I forget that April sun is a gift and I long for pine trees and lakes and an end to the miles between me and home, when my strength crumples and I forget what it means to be home.