Hello fellow travelers. I’m sitting at the Berlin Airport as I write this. I’ll probably be boarding the plane soon. And so will be writing this post in various parts of the globe. I took photos while riding in the back of the taxi. My sorrow at my daughter’s absence returned while leaving Berlin. It’s a strange thing to have cared for a someone for so long, to have held them newly born in your arms, to have read them stories night after night, to have scared the monsters away, to have played with them and laughed with them, only to see them go off one day—and have no voice to look after.
And that gets me thinking about home again. I’m sorry to go and sorry to come home.
And now I’ve arrived at the Dublin airport. I’d like to try again to formulate my thoughts on what home means to me, but with so little time , I struggle. Robert Frost said that home is where they have to let you in.
Maybe it’s also possible that home is where they have to let you go.
And home is where you have to be willing to let go.
midnight in a little courtyard—the cricket's worldly song 242: August 30th 2019 | bottlecap