Where is Home?

Where is home?
That’s a good question.
I haven’t lived
In California
For quite a while,
And every time I return
It seems strange,
Like a place
I no longer belong.
Sure, the United States
Is my country,
And I am proud of it,
But I don’t choose
To live there any more.
I have gotten used to
Living and working
In foreign lands
To the point where
I am more comfortable there
Than I am
Back in the States.
I am in Turkey now,
So that is my home.
Before I was in Iraq,
So that used to be my home.
I have had a number
Of different places
I could call home
Over the years.
It is pretty much
Wherever I hang my hat
And decide to stay.
I move so much
That no place
Has an air of permanency.
I haven’t yet figured out
Where I ultimately want
To settle down,
But I assume some day
I will find a suitable place,
Or it will find me.
I don’t think it will be the place
That will have me settle down,
But more than likely
It will be someone special
Who makes me
Want to stay
In one place
Long enough to
Grow some roots.

A Time to Jump

Sometimes in life,
It’s time
For us to jump,
To sacrifice
The security
We have grown
Accustomed to,
Even if we can’t
Initially see
Where we’re
Supposed to land.
We must trust
The parachute
We packed,
As well as
Our instinct
To land on our feet
In cat like fashion,
No matter
What crosswinds
We encounter.
We really don’t have
Much choice in the matter,
For we are determined
To change the circumstances
Of our lives.
The unknown world
Is far more intriguing
Than the world we know,
So we bail out if we can,
And think of it
As an adventure.

Hibernation

Sometimes we allow ourselves
To go into a dormant state
Where we just seem to exist
With very little of the flavor
That we call life.
There is nothing
That really motivates us,
Nothing to get excited about,
No sense of passion
In anything we do.
It’s like we are
Going through the motions
In animated sleep,
Unconscious to
Any of the beauty of life,
Adrift in the sea of things
And not really caring
One way or another
How things turn out.
Such a state of hibernation
Might even be considered blissful
If we didn’t possess
An innate sense
That there was more to life
Than what we are experiencing.
Our minds rebel
Against the thought
Of living in such
A vegetative state,
And torment us
Until we decide to
Start having a life.

The Drifter

He was a perpetual wanderer
In search of a place
That he could call home,
Yet every time
The winds of opportunity blew,
He pulled up stakes
And headed off
In the direction
That the wind was blowing.
There were plenty of women
Who had tried
To get him to settle down,
But he just didn’t seem to be
The settling type.
The fact is that he was
More comfortable
Sleeping out under the stars
Than he was
Cooped up in a room.
He liked being outdoors,
Working with his hands
And feeling the grit
In his teeth.
He worked as a ranch hand,
A handy man of sorts,
Doing odd jobs
That always needed to be done
Around a ranch.
He was good at fixing things,
Especially cars,
So no matter where he was,
He could always find work
Of one sort or another to do.
When he wasn’t working,
He almost always had
A piece of wood
In his hands
That he was carving
Or sanding and polishing.
He was good at whittling,
Making figures of people
As well as horses and cattle.
He was a master
Of intricate detail.
You should have seen
The eagle he did once.
That was a magnificent piece
Fit for a museum.
There must be pieces of his
Spread all over the country
Because he tended to leave something
Everywhere he went.
He also had a way with kids
Though he never had
Any of his own.
I suppose if he had been
More inclined to stay put,
That would have changed.
He was just one
Of the tumbleweeds
Drifting with the wind
Across the prairies.

The Call of the Road

In my heart
I know it is time
To take to the road
And to begin exploring,
Discovering the essence of
This country of ours.
I want to experience its grandeur,
To appreciate its complexity,
To know its diversity,
And to capture its spirit
In the words of my narratives.
I want to talk to the people
From one coast to the other,
Collecting stories,
Seeing its beauty
Through their eyes
And through my own.
I intend to
Take my time about it,
To mosey around a bit
And get to know
The back roads,
The out of the way places,
And the real people
That make up
This land of ours.
I hear the call of the road
And it beckons me on.