Shake out of a dream, your pulse high and your mind elsewhere. Returning to Earth takes longer when you were just light years away. The western wilderness remains steadfast outside your window, quiet in an early morning breeze, as the sun climbs the mountainside behind the house. A new day, a blank slate. You see the end of the road approaching, want desperately to find the metaphor that will shift you into a higher gear. Want to feel the deadline energy make you savor each moment.
Images of New York came across the screen last night, simple, sweet and quintessentially home. They asked if I miss the city, and when I said no, it was clear they heard what they wanted in the answer. But not missing it doesn't mean never wanting to go back.
No, filled me with such joy.
Because not missing New York now, means it is still a home I take for granted.
Not missing New York now, means it has not been taken from me.
I saw those images on the screen, and all I felt was peace.
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