Friday, October 9, 2009
chapter four: home
*these are some types of homes
my home smells and tastes like pumpkin bread.
it looks yellow and brown and orange and red. (the rhyming stops here)
it sounds like my parent's laughing beside Dress Shoes' rhythmic meeting of Hardwood Floor while my Old Piano sings along
and it feels like a little bit of light let in through partially closed blinds.
being home is
the right kind of catching up
the right kind of alone.
I'm gonna step outside a minute now..
So I was just laying in my hammock out back staring up at the clear, cold, blue sky changing frames from between the green birch leaves and branches hanging low and swirling slowly, thinking more about home, and God, and home and God, and the sky, and friends, and pumpkin bread, and then i came inside, noticing i had leaves in my hair and on the back of my shirt.
and i thought, "that makes sense".
...it's nice being home...