Somehow It's November

and there are flyers to fly and
bookings to book and
names to remember and the
house needs tidying and buses need riding
and markets need marketing
and the holidays are coming
(with in-laws visiting)
and there is work to be done
and
meetings to call
and bone broth to brew
and stories to tell
and fears to face
and courage to find
a woman to love
a boy to hold
and many, many
miles
to run

But

I look at the boy's face
while he sleeps and
hear the waves pounding on the shore
just outside our little white house and
the windows rattle in the sea wind like
something from a distant age
I once knew and
I remember myself and know that when
I am right here and nowhere else
really right here
I am already
home.