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.