Home

Be safe home, my friend.

– but home isn’t what folk think

home, my friend, is neither

the start- or the endpoint, 

nor is it the journey

– home takes you to a port,

a door, a heart, a book

– where you hang your hat

for a single night

or a lifetime

warm like a hearth

– where you sit down

in good company

exchange news about

the world and the other homes

– homers nodding in agreement

sharing bread and broth

– where you replenish

your food stores

your memories

your laughters

your hopes and dreams

your itinerary

– where you renew the caulking of

your boat

your boots

your body

and set out again

– on your own but not alone

carrying with you

things you didn’t know you needed

things you didn’t know you had

– home is the slow filling of the void

more and more complete

as your journey unfolds

– and at some point you realise that

a mountain ridge beckons like a lighthouse

a friendship guides like a compass

a smile is a cross on a treasure map

like a familiar forest or a river bend

– and when one complements the other and

together becomes the place called home

you understand it is both

the movement and that which moves

– that is what folk really talk about

when they talk about home.

– So,

Be safe home, my friend.