Home.

So what is home to me? Not sure actually.

It's an ongoing journey, I suppose, which will ultimately lead me to my heavenly home. But as I've wandered this world, I've glimpsed beautiful shadows of home around every corner.

Snapshots of my worldly home...

the smell of dogeared books,
wrapped in a silky flow of prose,
mom's home cooking, always an A,
where sarcasm spouts a natural geyser,
and warmth is found in the moment
before dreams, adrift mid muse.
rumble of thunder, smell of rain,
drifting away to lost memories.
spotlight on with smiling eyes,
hair up, legs a-splay, sprawl of silence.
in the kitchen together, slurp and stop.
pour it out to mom, see the reflection.
laugh to stitches, feels like running,
back into familiar arms.