Gone home

Gone home

The snail carries its home on its back and keeps growing that home as it needs to, though I like to imagine it can, like a hermit crab, discard one home for another when the first just won’t do. A falling star, like the one I saw above the mountains on the night you left us, shoots off into the atmosphere and burns itself off. Where have you gone, little one? Where did you find to make your home, alone, in the wilds, without me?

Read More