I miss spending my days at home.
This place. The one that smells of coffee and woodsmoke.
This place that is a reflection of my imperfect self. I embrace my homey tendencies. And acknowledge that there are times when I dream of flight. The lure of being somewhere deep in the woods. Quiet and alone with nothing taking me out of each and every moment. Feeling it all - the hum of the earth. movement of wings. rustle of leaves. roar of wind.
Those moments surface and then pass.
The one that comes each time I arrive home remains.