Home (Series) -- No. 8

I’ve been traveling – time traveling; between cities – between time zones.  I know not the date; know not the time; know not of the altitude I am traveling at the present moment.  I don’t know how much longer I’ll be sitting here, in this space, until I get home.

Home – yet another smudge of an idea.  I have started a series of writings in which I thought was becoming a clearer and clearer depiction of a home – my home.  From the way it looks to the way it smells to the temperature it holds, every bit of detail as lively and vivid as I live it and breathe it each day.  I was just about to have some fun.  Some real fun.  On my own.

On my way to Asia, I was hating the long flight, and wishing I would never have to take another one, especially by myself.  Now on my way back, I feel that it is a necessary passage of time for me to process some thoughts.  Last week I thought I was so ready to go home.  Now I’m not sure where it is.