Coming Home

The scent of fresh flowers greets me as I cross the threshold.
The sweet song held in perfume notes brings me to the sweet reverie
Of Spanish cathedrals housing our lovely lady
And gardens in the full gamboling romp of summer.

Hope is held within those blooms
That I will not break like an egg,
But bounce out into the sunshine
Chasing sweet innocence and play.

All the while, the wise ones speak
“Living is what matters.”
“Only love is real.”
“Write a new chapter, filled with your own songs.”
A step across the threshold,
One step.
And I am home.


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