Bottled up scents of you, fresh bread, cluttered kitchens, earth and grass and sweetness, complete warmth, exhaling relief, inhaling comfort.
Looking at sunset silhouettes of gnarly bare trees against power lines and small flocks trailing south.
Streets that intersect that need no maps, like the memories that live on each one.
Stolen moments to make quick memories, hug quickly and make plans for the next time.
Front porch sitting with coffee and books, talks about the past and future which seem closer together than they ever were before.
A house on a hill with a front yard tree to climb and dream and grow up in. Christmases, home made birthday cakes, always under construction, turning out to be a home to hold so much life.
Faint lines on faces, silver sparkle crowns, welcoming smiles standing at new doors. Everyone moves on in some way, letting go and holding on at the same time.
Laughing, crying, smiling, daydreaming, like the only way I can do this is at home.
Home is everywhere. A beach, a mountain, a snowy foothill, a country road to nowhere.
Homecoming is you.