Home

Home is not always where the heart is. You see, my heart is intricately woven into time and space with my husband and daughter, and yet still we are not home.  Home is where my bones know peace, and where my mind effortlessly follows. It’s where desire, and nostalgia dissolve into the present, leaving nothing more than deep sighs of content, and belly laughs exchangeable for an abdominal workout. It’s where cousins kiss repetitively, leaving their mamas swooning over a family bond that runs deeper than I can seem to wrap my head around.  Home is where green things grow, and where mountains hold secrets, and symbols that I acknowledge, and inquire about daily. It’s where beauty begs to be praised, and where my heart is open enough to sing such praises without much effort or intention.  It’s where coffee runs like water, but still, I savor its aroma like I may not get the privilege to smell it tomorrow.  It’s where I move across chilled wood floors, and am known by the most beautiful dance community I have ever found.  It’s where that space inside my chest swells with purpose, and meaning, and where the little things become my every-thing’s. It’s the place I want to give octave, and the new bambino, growing, and dwelling inside the most creative part of my being.  It’s the place I can’t resist much longer.  My suitcase heart is finally asking to come home…