Coming Home

On this day, I climb the hill with a cushion of elation under my feet Gravity's heavy tug now merely a child's warm weight upon my back The exquisite buoyancy of hope is as a strong, steady wind at my back I fairly fly, almost racing to the top to feel the sun's fondest face on mine Shadows, storms of memory may loom in the valley from which I climb but I know as I ascend this steepest slope; I will not fall as I did not fail The light awaits, the warmth it beckons, real love is hailing this hiker: Climb swiftly to us on the wings of your good smile; you're coming home