I dreamt of our old home, last night.

There is was. There they were.

Our house, our pool. Our friends, family, and neighbors.

And then, the landscape.

The rolling hills, the big sky and the vast fields.

Even in my deep sleep, something in me reached out, wanting to hold these things we’ve left behind.

And then-

This morning, I woke to the present. My new surroundings.

There it was. There they were.

The creaky floor boards, the busy street.

The farmer’s market shoppers, the sounds coming from the musicians in the church parking lot.

I rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes and a hat to cover my knotted hair.

I walked down the cracked pavement towards the transformed church lot filled with flowers, vegetables, and baked goods. A city gathering of people of every color, age and size.

As I bought my coffee and croissant, I heard the now familiar sirens wailing in the distance. Each second the sound getting closer until the police car flies by.

I’ve lived in so many places and spaces, but as I hold my newly purchased eats- I find myself being drawn back down the alley.

Back to the brick bungalow that holds my sleeping family.

Home.

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