My heart is calling home

For a moment this morning I wished I was back home.

Where’s home?

Till some time ago, I thought my home was Dublin.

Then I went off travelling and I discovered that it is worth investing time and money to explore this planet. To get your life more adventurous, before something happens and blows you off completely.

Boom.

Before you’d be wondering – at the edge of your desperation – is really life all about this?

Going to work, pay the bills and going to work to afford paying more expensive bills?

Today, after a good workout among the humid woods of the southernmost point of the Netherlands, for a moment I wished was the rosmarine all I could have smelled.

I wished for the mushrooms to turn into geranium.

I also hoped for the grey and dull sky to be maybe also grey, but somewhere in the South of Europe.

Since I left Sicily, this was truly the first time such thought crossed my mind.

It made me smile.

Because even if one day I will settle and good chances are that I won’t be in Sicily, I am happy that I felt like wishing to be there.

Smelling the breeze of the sea.

Listening to the sound of the waves smashing angry against dark rocks while playing hide and seek with the shore.

Winter waves like my land, beautiful and angry.

My home really is my own heart.

Right now my heart nothing wishes but a simpler life.

More time for writing, studying, exercising my body and forgetting all the nonsense madness of a busy, modern life.

I am the kid standing in the middle of the road licking an ice cream.

Poems, music and nature are my muses and my highest desires.

All appearances of beauty put together and crowned by true love – the ultimate dream of ecstasy.

I live most of my conscious time inside my own head and I am in love with what I create in there.

girl-with-a-red-typewriter

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