It was a faded world this morning,
the fields blanketed with frost,
the air thick with fog.
I didn't know how many years I'd gone without seeing fog
until I finally saw it again,
and my whole being sighed with relief.
I didn't know how many bodies of water I encountered daily at home,
until I got to the desert,
and mistook the shimmer of a wet parking lot for a pond.
Days like this make me wish I was still a housewife;
I would charge out into the day for a brisk walk,
daydreaming along with my music...
then home to write or clean or bake.
But I needed a change, I needed to be part of the world again;
I needed people and tasks.
It is good.
but I feel like it has been too many days since I've put my fingers on a keyboard.
I am homesick,
but truly, for a home that doesn't exist anymore.
I love my sweet home town -
it has turned into the idyllic place that it once only was in my mind,
from my perch in those desert mountains of the west.
It is thriving and art-filled, and I don't quite belong there anymore,
and yet...I always will.
I miss the dark blue of the angry ocean, its white caps showing its mood;
I miss the smell of salt water and decaying seaweeed;
I miss the words people use, and the way their words sound;
I miss the rocks on the beaches, rolling and tumbling in a symphony of smoothing.
I miss returning to my parents' small house on the winding road in the wooded edge of the peninsula;
I miss feeling anchored there; everything right and safe and good.
Well, I just need to wrench my heart free of Westbrook St., and allow new roots to form.
So grateful for the family that is still there,
and the friends-like-family that welcome me with the open arms of Homecoming.