In my younger days in Colorado, I used to run down the stairs to my parents' house. I would pass over the threshold into the house's warm embrace and be Home. It occurs to me that Home is not where I was, but what I became in the sanctuary of house in which I grew up. This year (I was there in August) the grass was greener than I have ever seen it so late in the year. The house opened its embrace to me, but Home had become something I carried in my heart. This did not diminish the beauty of the place, or the joy of being with my family.
Ingen kommentarer:
Send en kommentar