The same day I wrote that last blog post about missing the mountains, Sarah sat down and wrote this poem. I love it. She didn't know I'd written the post, and I didn't know that she'd written a poem, but I reckon we had the same kind of feelings about home.
Some say that
Home
is in a person,
soulmate,
or Spouse...
They say,
I knew I loved
you,
when Home became
wherever,
you are...
But I can never,
will never,
say that.
You know I love you.
But I will never
love you
or anyone,
the way I love
The Tuckaseegee
ghost-fog at dawn,
the pinks and greens
of mountain laurel
in July,
river-rock smoothness,
or Jack in the Pulpit.
The curves of your shoulders
could never compare
with the rolling hills and valleys
that have held me
all my life.
You could never be a waterfall.
And you cannot be my Home.