What is home?

Is home a room? A rock? A memory?

Is it a person? A story? A childhood?

Is it the well-trodden streets of a city I know so well, or is it the dirt roads and early morning rooster crows that color this land a soft yellow?

Is it discovering new paths, new ways to get where I need to go, new ways to be in the world, or is it returning to old familiars and faces and habits?

Is it both?

Is home the love I left behind, or is it the soul-sister I feel called to begin anew with?

Is home my family? A garden? A language I'm fluent in?

Is it none of these things?

Is it all?

Is home the place where I will lay down roots and watch them grow?

Is home movement or stillness? Comfort or uneasiness?

Is home a snake that sheds its old skin, each year becoming reborn?

Is home an embrace? A conversation? A long solo walk through woods I once knew so well?

Is it a friendly chat with a neighbor?

Is it none of these things?

Is it all?

Is home within me or outside? Is it everywhere or nowhere? A choice or a calling?

Is it all of these thing, co-existing in one body and mind?

Or is it none?

Can it be touched, tasted, smelled and heard?

Or is home like the wind, indisputably present without being seen?

Is home what I knew, what I know or what has yet to be found?

It is all of these things?

Is it none?