I need an old oak tree, with space around it to inhale; not too much to ask for. I can’t breathe in neighborhoods. Can’t feel the gritty earth pressing up through my toes. It takes an old farmhouse to hold me in its stories – one of many who have gone before. I need to find a place called home.
Cast from a twisted Eden long ago, unable to tell holy from profane, I don’t acknowledge the hunger anymore. It’s broken legacy costs too much.
But this ache for home slid in through the cracks, bitter and demanding. Jaw clenched, I stand frozen; nowhere to hide, nowhere left to run.
This is the place that I can truly say I grew up. I saw only the top of that tree and knew exactly where it was. It brings a sense of life and peace that I have yet to rival.
I just saw your comment, and that melted my heart!! That place, and what we shared there, grew and shaped me in ways I will be forever grateful for!!
Ditto do true!