She Was Home.

She Was Home.

The way she wrapped her arms around me-

I felt safe and comfortable in the vulnerability without the harsh ravenous wind exposure-

Normally synonymous with the elusive jagged edges surrounding the Fall.

Instead she was an ascent that left me gasping for air; allowing me to catch my breath-

At beautiful out cropping’s overlooking the climb,

A break in the wooded vegetation unveiling the colors flowing all around-

She harbored a wholeness to her,

That enveloped me the way her warmth did.

My heart ran crazy and still all at once; the way the hands on a clock seem to dance around and with one another in the circle of life as the passing of time.

She was home.

Her spirit was a cozy night in beside the fireplace,

She was a lazy Sunday morning wrapped up in one another under the cover of blankets and the soft drum of rain on the roof.

Her hands like holding a hot cup of coffee-

Each sip warming you to your core.

The serenity and simplicity anchoring your spirit-

An instant, where time and space froze-

and my heart melted.

She was home.

Her dance was chaotic,

At times without rhyme or sound,

And still she moved to her own-

Her song a vibration-

That rang through deep to her bones.

She was home.

But home is a feeling more than a place,

And she was never meant to stay in one space,

Gone as quickly as she came.

The way the snow melts even after the wildest storms-

Leaving behind only-

Partitions and fragmentary forms,

Of what was only just before such a hypnotizing furry of such a spectacular phenomenon.

Amidst the blocks of winter remnants therein lies the grass and mud awaiting Spring,

Gaps of where she once was,

And gaps of where she never will be.

She was a home,

And she lives on in me-

In the nooks of memories only we know,

Pressed close against the bones of my soul.

In spirit wherever I go.

Wherever I go.

She was my home.