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.

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3 Comments

  1. Kyleigh Anderson

    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.

    Reply
    • Elizabeth Love Kennon

      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!!

      Reply
  2. Sally Thompson

    Ditto do true!

    Reply

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