A friend told me about a new documentary on homelessness. The film revealed that homelessness became profoundly difficult to change when community and relationships were severed or lost.
That stayed with me for a long time.
Home was many things.
It was where Florence began to fade.
It was the city that still trumpeted her spirit.
It was a meal with good friends, regardless of where we were or how old we had gotten.
It was the intimacy of familiar things and normal moments.
It was what we left and what we sought.
In recent days spent wandering from one place to another, the Mariner and I had each other and, because of that, home was always there - be it the walls of an apartment in Spain or the stern of a houseboat in Amsterdam.
Now familiar walls beckon. It is time to go home. But in many ways, we had never left.
**
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Home is Where the Heart is and the Heart is Always Home
The Exhaustion of Diaspora: Part Six - Home, Where My Love Lies Waiting
Sunday Memories of the Future of Love
Rare Friendships: Coming Home
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