I only have a few minutes to write, then I gotta fly on outta heeyuh. Pop in to work for a polite few treatments and roll on down the road towards home. Not really home, though, just the motherlands.
Home is where the heart is. Home is where you say you are from even though you weren't born there. Home is the bunch of crows I dread leaving behind every time I do, but home is also coming back to them and that joy of being greeted by an interspecies welcome party.
The road, though. Trucks and that inexplicable wistful ache inspired by long journeys alone. Really I could go anywhere, but I am choosing to go here. But anywhere is there, glowing, knowing, like a secret attraction, a secret crush. Anywhere is always waiting for me when I am ready.
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