Memories of Home

I wish it was true for me that I remembered 'life'
- but it's not.
So much of my life is beyond recall,
I'm not sure what life I have lived
- possibly the life of someone else.

My yearnings to go back have lessoned
as I have felt the strain of doing so
- not so easy to get there from here.

Yet when I am there, the sunlight,
the temperature of the air, the prairie fields
- feel as they should, feel as I have known them.
Around wide open sloughs with waterfowl splitting the waters,
shorebirds beaking the muck, blackbirds screaming for territory,
the smell comes to me as an old friend.
Frozen footprints on the walkway, dirty piles of snow,
the dry burn of a deep breath in sub-zero cold,
a skate blade slashing a turn on rock hard ice,
the swaddling weight of winter clothing - comfort me.
I visit people easy to be with - easy
because the angst of bonding has taken its leave,
making room for that comfortable familiarity
that says I'm home.