Sunday, July 31, 2011

Coming Home

The shutters are all closed
Floors dusty
No, dirty
Only the cat has tended to home
All this time

(And he doesn't sweep)

But the smell
Fills me
With memory

The trip was long
And I am sore
Yet my feet
Find a spot on the rug
To stand
Where I always have
In my mind

The windows greet me
Smiling with sunlight
The walls
I painted by hand
Are smooth under my fingertips

Vacations are bliss
And I know of those I have left
That I already miss
Terribly
But nothing compares
To the serenity
Of sitting in
Wallowing in
My own space
My own walls
My own work

At long last
I am home.

5 comments:

  1. I love this lots.... great atmosphere, great emotion.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

    ReplyDelete
  3. always lovely to come home, even if the cat hasn't done the sweeping...

    ReplyDelete