Thursday, October 9, 2014

Finding Home




wikimedia commons
John Higson
Point of Ayre
March of memorials swimming in movement, Oakland, CA




i wonder sometimes
when i see fish fly past 
on thermal currents,
blue on green,

if i could find my way home
the way they seem to,
always headed
back to the water
as though
it called to them
in some secret language 
that only they understand.

i seem to lack 
the instinct
to find my way home
unless i write
and even then
i arrive home
by happenstance,

turning down
roads unexpected,
winding
down gutters
with the rain
watching sticks 
float by
wondering
if all sticks make their way
or just a chosen few.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014

8 comments:

  1. its a windy road, but writing i think leads us there eventually
    and maybe that instinct is there we just have to allow ourselves to hear it
    eventually.

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  2. I can hear the Beatles singing "The Long and Winding Road"....I'm set for the day now. I've had my dose of Audrey. :) Happy Weekend my friend.

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  3. "Unless I write"....me too. Love the flow of this and the winding road of thoughts in your poem!

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  4. Eventually we all have to go some day or the other and its really tough to answer whether this is our home or that other realm?

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  5. I really enjoy this perspective. You give a fresh, unique voice to the journey.

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  6. I love this wonderful reflection, Audrey! I too seem to arrive home by happenstance but at least we arrive. Wonderful piece, keep them coming!

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  7. Audrey,

    Next time I see sticks floating by I will wish them a successful journey to where they are meant to be.

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I appreciate your comments and thoughts--thank you for stopping by! I don't always reply here, but always try to reciprocate--so hang in there, I will be over to your blog in a jiffy!