Maybe home is where we live right now. Or almost.
Maybe home is where we grew up and still feel that we belong. Maybe home feels like a million miles away or maybe it feels so close that country roads can take us home.
Maybe it’s a way of life that’s almost gone. Maybe it’s a place that both calls to us, and repels us.
Maybe home is a whole country, or a province or state, or a city or small town, or maybe it’s more tightly defined: a specific house.
Maybe home is family. Maybe it’s friends with whom we share a sense of humour, however goofy. Maybe it’s just one person along the broken road.
Maybe home is the way we felt when we were young or when we were young and in love. Maybe it’s something we recognize best when we leave it.
Maybe it’s our final destination, as we head for our own version of the green, green grass of home.
Maybe someone can sing us back home or maybe we can’t go home again. At least we can turn our faces homeward bound.
Look homeward, angel. Whatever home is to each of us, may we find it.
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, You are Here
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