24 October, 2010
“... and there is nowhere to go but home, which is nowhere to be found and yet is here,
unlost, solid, the very ground on which you stand but cannot visit ...” George Szirtes
Late autumn afternoon. I'm on my way into town to do some chores. A carpet of leaves lie on the sidewalk leaden down with rain and shadowed by the winter darkness that is coming. My mind hears sighing whispers about summer travels on coastal waters in warmer seas. I turn my back on the idea of pressing on, and instead return to the warmth of home with its golden lighting and silly loving family chatter.