Like An Unforgotten Lover

It is said that home is where the heart is. The peripatetic soul seeks pasture in the far corners of the earth, takes root and bears fruit in some strange places, wanders off to more unknown spaces, struggles to fulfill a destiny, and yet still hankers for that one warm spot where dreams used to be sweet and memories decidedly tender. Home is where the heart is, indeed, and it beckons every time the spirit falls prey to earthy frills, when the flesh succumbs to bodily ills, and the mind grows weary from merely just surviving.

Smell the flowers... walk on grass... hear the birds sing... gaze at the moon... laugh in the rain... be a child again. The promise of home is at once inviting, at best hopeful; sometimes stirring, oftentimes uplifting; but always wistful and almost ethereal, in essence a comforting refuge from the cold, biting winds of change.