I am not a wanderer.

These feet find too much home

in sandstone slopes

and moss edged red bricks

tucked up in dandelion lawns

and weather worn fence posts.

These souls loose their itch

too close to the boundary mark.

Shutter up too soon after leaving.

Always find a way of looking back

and remembering

everything I want. I have.

I just have to turn around.

---

 

My first poem since January. The prompt was to write a poem about the adventure of travel but I’m not ashamed to say that I’m an utter home bird. I do like visiting new places but I hate being away from home for long. I’m one of those people who’s attachment to their own bed beats almost every other attachment I have.

I like knowing that I’m at home.