“Home is the place that goes where you go, yet it welcomes you upon your return. Like a dog overjoyed at the door. We’ve missed you is what you hear, no matter how long you’ve been gone.”
~ Michael J. Rosen
By the time you read this I’ll be going home.
Front door pulled shut behind us.
Snuck out of our city house, bundled into the car with bags and books and sleepy dogs, the morning not yet dawned, and the cold breath of winter at our heels.
By the time you read this I’ll be nearly home.
Driving through endless sugarcane flats and little seaside villages, winding up mountains that overlook oceans, and then greeting the day as the milking cows amble slowly along the narrow country road that leads to the farm, a home where we always enter through the back door.
By the time you read this I’ll be home.
Shall I make us both a cup of tea, light some incense, put a little music on? Lets watch the dogs run in mad circles for the joy of it while we chat.
Step into my office. It’s where I’ll be writing today. It has rather a nice ceiling, don’t you think? So light filled, and aaaah…. it’s good to be home.