Home calls to me once more, she calls me to bathe in her pristine rivers,
to bask in the sun, to marvel at her views, walk her roads.
On a steel bluebird I will arrive, and heat will greet me,
and she will say:
“You are home now, boy, the place where you belong.
These mountains are your fortress, the land of your people.
The soil runs deep, it is in your blood. I am your mother and you are my son.
This is your home, and you will never leave it for long.”
And I’ll say like the Talking Heads:
“I guess that this must be the place, this is where I’ll be.
Home is where I want to be.”