"The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back."
— C.S. Lewis (Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold)
The way he walked in to the room
his canter and the smile on his face that made my heart race.
The older woman in line behind me at the grocery store,
the way her silver hair was piled lopsided on top of her head and
the careless enthusiasm with which she picked up her food from her cart -
the grin on her face revealing a delightful inward joy.
The smell of the onion I chopped for our vegetable chili last night -
and the fact that it didnt make me cry. Peppers, tomatoes, corn, three varieties of beans, jalapenos,
celery and garlic swirling together in colorful unison in our new slow cooker.
The scent of Spring outside - if only for a moment - in the middle of winter.
The afghan on the back of our couch that my grandmother's hands carefully made
and imagining her picking out the colors to make it.
The first time I paused to look up - standing in the middle of New York City.
feels like going back home.
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