With yearning ghosts of the long distant past
snapping at my determined heels.
The rain is starting to get heavier now
as I take the bend and start up the hill
as fresh faced and keen of step
as back there in adolescence.
My coat collar’s up
and I twist to the right slightly
at each individual gust of wind
channeled through the garden boundary walls.
It’s good to be back home where you belong
after decades of foreign land roaming.
Your bones and soul reconnect
to the Mother-like Earth beneath your gypsy feet.
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