Grateful to be Home

I am grateful to be home, to come to the place where I am rooted and perhaps where I best belong. I am thankful to lay in my own bed and find the perfect rest and relaxation; that the mattress on which I lay, the fabrics which wrap around my body, and the pillows which cushion my head are perfect, for me. I am grateful for the peace of mind that home brings, the feeling of familiarity and also of order; that the ways of the world return to that baseline which I call reality. I know the walls, floors, ceilings, doors, appliances, nooks and crannies—everything; it’s all so neighborly, as if we are a community. No, it’s a relationship, a connection that I share with this place called home. I know it well. It knows me well. Home is a friend. Home is my friend. It is a friend who deals with my daily bustle and hustle, receives me after all my locomotion, and comforts me, especially on the worn and tired days.

I think home is like a hearth. No matter where I travel or what kinds of abstractions, real or not, that I build around my life, home is where the fire burns. There is warmth, light, and people gathered around this place. Home is where I will return.

I am grateful to be home.