Monday, February 27

The Road Home

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The King and Queen Towers.
The beacons that call me home.
The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I'd rather take,
No matter where it's going.

Travel ~~Edna St. Vincent Millay

I drove home at dusk.
My view relaxed, I was able to perceive my home in solitude.
A rare treat-
A situation not often afforded in the stir of humanity so tightly confined here.

I love this city for its warmth and chill.
Its solidarity and independence.
Everything one could want, from the passion of the arts to tests of human endurance exist here. Every day here is a marathon, a challenge to be undertaken.
Therein lies her charm...

A whisper of traffic,
brimming life that intersects and parts, rarely touching, yet, like all I have known, affecting me with its motion.
The rise and fall of lights,
a nightly landscape of contradictions
that speak of diversity and commonality.

Of all of the places that I have lived I wouldn't say that this one suits me best.
The sea is too far, and yet, here I have found contentment.
I only hope to stay my restless spirit long enough to truly appreciate this place, but wanderlust is calling
and we are old friends.