In 2010 a long time friend and i where crossing the country with no more than the packs on our backs. Id been on this journey for most of my adult life. Traveling the rails, trails, highway and waterways of this side of our world.
My old friend and i had reunited in the Piedmont region at the foothills of or ancient mountains, The Appalachians. We set out together, ignited by our new romance and a desire to know this land and eachother more deeply.
Threw a cycle of the sun and a coming and going of the full seasons, we found ourselves where the rocky hills, they call the Ozarks, meet the dry plains. We had come to that hidden hollow with the task of bringing a new life into the world, and together, surrounded by our closest friends, we made a home in those dear woods, and became a family.
Our homes are sometimes made of rocks, and wood. Sometimes canvas or nylon. Sometimes they sit on a hill, nestled into grandparent trees on a clear starry night. Sometimes they sit on a concrete foundation surrounded by the city light.
And maybe all those things don’t look like a home, but we made them that, by bringing our love and our life there, and making love and life there.
And maybe still some folks might not call some a home.. And sometimes we don’t ether
Sometimes we call them a nest, for one thing is for certain, we have wings
and we can fly