Finding Home

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

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014


  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

  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.

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

  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?

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

  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!

  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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