One thing I know for sure
is that I’ll always have a home. Always.
Never will I find her farther away
than one step outside the door.
I have only to cross a threshold
before entering a beautiful new world.
She’s a world who understands everyone,
regardless of what they look like,
how they think, or who they are.
And she’s happy to give me space
if I want it, and happy to give me friends.
“Just look around,” she says.
She’s happy that I am home
so long as I listen to her, too.
She has stories to tell, my home –
for she is older than time.
But she is not home to me alone.
That I know for sure,
for she is home to the wise oak,
awaiting every sunrise and sunset,
deep-rooted and vigilant.
She is home to the majestic deer,
and watches them lope gracefully
up her own wooded hills.
She is home, too, to the wind
that reaches all living things –
a messenger with a reminder
carried on gusts and breezes:
“Live now, live well.”
And all who live in my home listen.
This home is mine,
but does not belong to me.
Nor does she to anyone or anything.
This home is mine, and I invite you in,
because my home has room
for anyone with an open heart
and appreciation for the gift of life.
The Earth will always be my home –
that’s one thing I know for sure.