I’m getting old.
There are no lines and no grey hairs, but there is an abundance of nostalgia.
Now whenever I step onto the island of my birth, I feel…what is it I feel?…I guess I just feel like I’m home.
There’s something about the sight and sound of the ocean that grounds me. Something about going home to the very same house I was carried into days after being born. Something about chirping my grandma.
There’s something about home.
Maybe it’s my strangely beautiful family who descended on the house for a welcome home party with only two days notice. Maybe it’s my addiction to long walks along the landwash (beach) no matter the wind or lack of appropriate footwear. Maybe it’s that my city boy partner fit like a glove. Maybe it’s the quiet.
Maybe now that I’ve found peace with me…there’s something about home.