tomorrow, i rise early. painfully so.
and, chauffeured by one sleepy husband, stumble to the city of brotherly love, to catch a metal bird to my home for half a decade.
my home-heart is split between this new place and the old.
how quickly the seed of settling sprouts roots and digs deep into this third floor soil. i ache with equal parts homesickness for so many places. some of them not planted at all. nomadic, moving day-to-day, season-upon-season with the people i love.
tomorrow i fly to those parts. trying to catch them all in once place for perhaps the last time.
i’m not there to hold the ties of their balloons and be sure they stay bundled together. nor do i want them to be so anchored.
this week, i will skip the small talk and go about the hard work of cutting them free. a dream loosener. my flight from old to new has made this calling apparent. we are too buoyant to be held by what is expected.
and in the midst of this loosening, i hope to find my lost red balloon. the one that holds what i’m truly meant to do. perhaps if i squint hard enough, i’ll see it out my window at 30,000 feet.
i hope my seat mates don’t mind my rambling . . .