After six weeks of solo travel in my Toyota Tundra, I’m home. The joys of being home are myriad: A cup of tea in my favorite mug from the Victoria and Albert Museum, the purr of my kit-tehs, the sound of rain on my roof, the blessing of sleeping in my own bed. Lovely.
A refuge, a sanctuary; a place or region to which one naturally belongs or where one feels at ease.
I also, though, like Robert Frost’s definition: “Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” I’ve gone home in that sense, too, and my daughter has come home on the same terms.
Home is a lovely word and a wonderful idea. May you always have somewhere that gives your heart a sense of home.