Ode to Home

Ode to my pillow

Collector of tears

Ode to TV channels

Whose numbers I know

Ode to the birds

At my feeder I’ve missed

Ode to the refrigerator

The grocery list

Ode to the day

I’ve returned ne’er to roam

Ode to the sweet, sweet

Cradle of home.

After 32 days away the return to home feels like a warm hug- a slow intentional drift into the familiar. Having left the bed with clean sheets, my shampoo and conditioner and favorite soap in the shower, the toaster set to just the right level of crunch, the windows looking out on the first signs of spring-daffodils ready to sing their yellow song. I croon no greater song of praise than that of home.

The closets still needing to be organized, the grout lines that require scrubbing, the windows with hazy remnants of winter don’t call my name as loudly- they’ve all settled into this quiet homage to home and left their grumbling for another day.

Should I have not ventured out, I may never have had a chance to recapture this visceral homecoming. When the ‘same-old, same old’-feels new again. Where all the things I’ve cataloged into my ‘ordinary - everyday’ file suddenly reflect new light - I am invited to revisit the heart of home – the timber and trappings of life settling in to peacefulness and familiar.

There was a time that some would say I never ‘let the grass grow under my feet’ and times I wonder why that has changed so remarkably. I do admire those whose souls are enriched or boosted by adventure – seeing the world- taking it all in- but for some reason gravity seems to have gotten the best of me and the journey inward holds as much weight or credence as the next itinerary or destination.

For now, I am happy to settle in for the ride- watching the seasons change through the same window, knowing what I find on aisle 6 in the grocery store, knowing that David Muir and World News Tonight is on channel 7 at 6:30 and being surrounded by the people, the street names, the village I call home.

May each of us revel in our differences and not be pulled by the force of other’s passions or appetites. May the continuum of snail to eagle, bookworm to paratrooper, wallflower to game show host - coexist peacefully in each of our souls as we settle in to who we are called to be.