Home is that one special place
in your heart and mind that calls
to you when you’re away
and leads you back to what you know.
I wasn’t born directly here
or raised in this sacred spot
like my dad was before me
with all his brothers and sisters.
But I am still drawn to these
mountains, forests and meadows.
It is, to me, all too familiar.
This is where my center is.
It’s where I will always know
where I came from in this world.
Like a spruce will grow to heights
but always be rooted in one soil.
My grandpa carved this field by hand
and built a house, a farm, a home.
The house, now unstable, but still it stands
as a monument to his labors.
My grandma raising six children
some nights by lamplight holding the young.
Coyotes with their curious eyes
would peek into the windowsills.
Children grow up and move away
to start new lives and families.
The house grows silent and vacant
never forgotten, but left alone.
This is “God’s Country”, his creation
of nature, beauty and seasons
that cycle over and over again.
The rhythm of cycles never ends.
Many years later, I am here now.
My roots are embedded in this ground.
To me and all the branches of the tree
this place is and will forever be home.
Allan A. Lundberg
