Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Windingly Straight

I was outside in the backyard today and the wind was blowing. I felt for a moment like I was in the prairie strolling though knee high grasses on my Grandpa's farm with my mother. What I realized is that I am never far from home.

Maybe home isn't a place. Maybe home is our journey. Maybe we are all already home.*

What's your home?

Windingly Straight

The butterfly
glides in circles
and sideways
through trees;
lands and
dances away again

We delight in its
hap-hazard path
We laugh in its

But the butterfly
follows the scent of
the alien bee balm,
the sunshine zenia,
purple-crowned bush

The butterfly makes
no mistake--
Flying straightways
to the sweetness
it calls home

The butterfly laughs
turning circles of delight
as we spin along our
windingly straight way;
never quite knowing
we are already home

*Thanks, Jen, for reminding me I am always already home.