Calling Me Home

Photo of children running home in Basque, France by William Albert Allard

I had pulled away, testing how far a connection could stretch, not always thinking of how the tug of resistance felt on the other end. What had been a pulsing vital conduit instead felt withering and restricting, so I sought eagerly to move beyond its reach.

It is turbulent out there without ties and tethers as anchors in the storm. There is hunger and thirst when roots have been pulled out and exposed. There is chill without the sustenance of hearthfire. It is lonely without the enveloping bonds of nurture within a sanctuary of love.

When I heard the call, I knew the time had come to return home. And so I ran, skipping, jubilant, eager, ready, almost weightless in my anticipation of a joyful reunion.