A fork in the road, a choice to be made
Aug. 21st, 2011 04:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapeofthingsI'm home and I'm so happy to be here. While I was away Spring crept in and the warm light is seeping into everything. The plums, apricots and cherries are in flower, pink petals strewn along the footpaths and the impossibly green grass. There are green rosallas in the trees, irises and tulips in my garden and the air smells of life and growth and possibility. The mountain slips into your awareness like a song you don't even notice you're hearing until you're singing along and everything hums a rhythm that seeped into your spirit when you weren't paying attention.
Home. I'm not sure when this strange little city at the edge of the world became it, but right now this is where I want to be. Not this house, perhaps, not this job, perhaps, but yes, this city that some days is so damn beautiful my soul aches. The quiet, mossy forests, the rugged mountain peaks, the wide, briny estuary and the pretty little city. I needed to go away to see more clearly what I have here. I don't want to go, not yet, perhaps not ever.
This is good to know.
Home. I'm not sure when this strange little city at the edge of the world became it, but right now this is where I want to be. Not this house, perhaps, not this job, perhaps, but yes, this city that some days is so damn beautiful my soul aches. The quiet, mossy forests, the rugged mountain peaks, the wide, briny estuary and the pretty little city. I needed to go away to see more clearly what I have here. I don't want to go, not yet, perhaps not ever.
This is good to know.
