Home is calling. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t know if I am wrong or if I am right. But something is calling me home. My heart is listening and hearing a song.
A melody leading me home.
I gaze up at the stars. I listen to the roar of the ocean, waves in three shades of blue. I smell a wild rose, place one on my table surrounded by a batch of baby’s breath. A little boy smiles and asks me to never take it away. I light a candle, watch it flicker, stir the soup that nourishes our bodies, watch it drip down the chin of a giggling boy with the sparkling blue eyes. I dive under the covers with my husband.
I feel home.
I gaze out my window at trees covered in a blanket of glittering snow. I bite into a piece of chocolate, sip a glass of red wine beside a beautiful friend with the heart of a mountain, she speaks the words I need to hear. I hear a seagull’s call, watch him soar against the backdrop of a clouded sky, sun bursting through in long rays of light.
Calling me home.
My baby rests his head upon my shoulder, I rock him to sleep. Home is calling me. I listen to a song it makes me dance and I feel alive. I wake up to the sunrise, the sky a painting of orange and red.
There’s death and life. There’s joy, there’s pain. There’s love and hate. Rage and peace. Forgiveness and resentment. Gratitude and envy. I scream and fight. Despise those I love, feel jealous and insecure. Restless and lonely, envious and confused. I am all of these things and none of these things at the very same time. I am holy and broken, a house of good and evil. There’s grief and sorrow, injustice and ugliness, heart ache and loneliness, confusion and delusion.
But someone is calling us home.
My heart is listening, turning its’ ears to the quiet, ever-present melody. A melody leading me home.