Return Home

On the first day of my return home, I sit in bed with my coffee and look out the window to the wispy soft blue cloud in the distance, lying peacefully among the trees. Beyond, I see the red roofs and tall Italian cypress of our village, snuggled into the base of the foothills of the Mogollon Rim.

I feel the shackles around my heart and soul fall away as I put the memory of metal and concrete, traffic, and hard edges, from my visit to the city, behind me .

My surroundings feed or starve my soul. I choose nature's welcome. Home.

You write it:  What is home to you?