September 15, 2022

On feeling at home

Given we're permanently roving, home isn't a place anymore.

Home is drinking Clipper tea as I wake up.

It's the few items that travel with me: green journal, cork drinks mat, tiny ceramic chicken by Joey Ruthers. It's clean clothes washed with Ariel laundry tabs.

I am at home in old forests and clear waters, golden sunlight and light mizzle.
Cities occasionally, on quiet early evenings.

Home is the childhood soft toy I still hold at night. Home is Joe. Home is how the tightness in my chest eases when I hear Wolves by Phosphorescent.