Home is a silent meadow. Although
meadows aren’t silent, really—
bees and insects drone, birds chatter,
life hums everywhere, pushing up
into the sunlight and down into the soil.
How is home like that? Home is where
wild ideas scatter and take root, and love
is the sunshine, the wind, the rain,
the pollinator
and this would be more believable
if I actually knew a meadow, or if I could
recall having ever, myself, been
in a meadow, not merely imagining it
second-hand from photos, films,
and Mary Oliver’s rapturous poems.
Home could be like that though, I imagine.
It could be devoid of the sounds of busyness
and commerce. It could be spacious,
in primary colors, humming
with unscheduled life.
#MetaphorDice