It's Friday again and that means I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday. Five minutes of writing from the heart. Go.
I don’t know where it came from, but I remember it clearly,
sitting on the wooden shelf behind the sofa in the house I spent some of my
most formative days as a child.
“Home is Where the Heart Is” it read, with a little red
heart where the word heart would otherwise be.
Now I understand, though then it was just a fixture on the
wall. Now it’s a very logical phrase.
A year ago, heck, five years ago, my home was a little gray
house that I loved. A house filled with memories and the pitter patter of our
baby boy and the scratches from our boxer boy on that beautiful hardwood floor
that we polished to a shine right before we got married and moved there
together. That was home after long trips and long days.
That home slowly became a house and then it was sold.
Now, as we prepare to move from our apartment we’ve tried to
call home here in the city for the last six months we feel like nomads in a
foreign land. Maybe because that’s what we are.
So home has, by necessity, become where our heart is. In a
week we will step on yet another airplane and fly to the place we’ve longed to
call home for four years now—the Jungle.
That is where our heart is. And that will be home. A
different home, but a beautiful one indeed.
Home is..
...where the...
...heart is.
