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Of all the things we carry with us, home is perhaps the lightest.
Every year or so, I find reason to be in the area where my grandparents lived for most of my life. Each time, my initial response is the same ‘who moved the house closer to the road?’
In my memory, the yard was huge, as was the orchard and the pond. It was surely a day’s walk to my grandpa’s store (rather than the quarter mile it is now). And how could such a little house and little porch hold so many people, so much love?
In the confines of my heart, the roof pushes against my breastbone and apples fall to the safety of little hands.
We may move, and we may know the feel of many floors beneath our naked feet……..but always, there is something greater we carry with us. We may wander, but we never really leave.
*sigh*
there’s no sign
to point the way
no wear upon the road
but I’d swear
the air is cleaner
in this place
beyond the want
for getting back –
someone waits me now
denied the fault
for leaving –
opened arms of grace
. . .
Republished from original – 2014
tornadoday 
what a gentle memory ..thank you for sharing it with us.
Thank you, my friend. Here’s praying all your memories are gentle………. Always with love, Bobbie
This post took me into Grace. So great!:)
-Jennifer
Thank you, Jennifer. I’m so glad you like this. May your day be the picture of iris dancing in the breeze. I pray upon your blessings. ~ Love ever, Bobbie
A very lovely write Bobbie, it makes me think of my grandparents! And its is such beautiful memories that come to life before my eyes…so is that little one you? Such a precious picture! Hugs and blessings always!
Yes, Wendell. That’s me and my grandpa…….. The thing I find funny when I look at this picture is knowing I was only three and already half as tall as he was………. But what a blessing his life to mine……… Our stories are never just ours, but a weaving of love and lives that came before us……… I am so glad this brought memories of your own grandparents. Let us say aloud those names that came as blessings from above. Thank you, dear one. ~ You are loved. ~ Bobbiie
Very true, Bobbie – whenever I revisit a childhood haunt – the place always looks smaller, nearer and leaves me in awe – how did all of us cram into that tiny space.
Isn’t it amazing, Eric? My own yard can’t compare to that of my granny and grampas, and yet, in reality, it is much larger……… But when I view it through the reality of love, in our smallest places, we store the greatest loves. They always remember us. ~ Love to you, my friend. ~ Bobbie
Woven with your special love and grace Bobbie. It evoked my childhood memories and the gardens where we all played. I can hear the sounds and feel the smell of those memories now. Forever held in our hearts. Thank you lovely Bobbie, love always, Xxx
The past is never really past……….always, we carry it with us. As near as a song, a scent, a breath of wind………the place we loved, home. ~ It is such a blessing, and proof of a divine loving God ~ that we are returned again and again, never more than a though away from the truth that is love. ~ Thank you, Jane. May your day blossom with unexpected wonder. ~ Love, Bobbie
Even if we can’t go there ever again, words can truly take us home…, home to visit the people and the love that we shared there. ~xo~
Me
I’m a storyteller. I surely believe that we live always in the hearts and memories of those we love……… Such, another proof of immortality. As long as one remembers, we live. 🙂 She lives, dear Paul…….in your heart, and in mine now too. ~ Love, Bobbie
The things we carry … may they all be blessed memories such as these
They surely are……..for in the carrying, we give weight to their value in our hearts. *sigh* Tis not a weight at all. ❤
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.