returning home
the old mill reposes in the middle of the peppered autumn trees
spruced up under the jurisdiction of golden, yellow, red, maples
the scene cannot be captured in a photograph, it is soul searing
My throat clogs up and I gasp, full of childhood memories
I sit at the edge and watch the revolving spokes of the water wheel
the mini falls splash and dance at my feet; I inhale the scent of the woods
September has never felt so welcoming and loving
Tears dance in my eyes, as I am overcome with nostalgia and hope.
The last time I was here I thought I knew about the world
Traveling for the last thirty years proved that I knew nothing
Forgetting the feel of this sanctuary, of my roots
I give praise to God that He allowed me to return home.
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