I am at home 

where the sea shimmers,

mountains scrape the sky

or sand dunes shift 

across the earth.

My soul was a bird once

do birds have homes like we do?

a fixed sense of place

perhaps an aroma, a memory,

a history.

Could “home” also rest

in movement,

the breeze on my face

and an abiding sense 

of peace?

Home can be carried


we hold the balance

between wind, water and earth

in open palms.

Jennifer Rice

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