Honk

We live one block from the fire station. Every day the firetrucks fly down our street and both JAC and I like it. The red blur makes my mundane life seems mildly more exciting. The added excitement comes with added noise. Eventually you get so used to hearing the scream of the sirens and the dogs howling in reply that it seems normal. The noise is an ordinary piece of our ordinary life.

A few nights ago we heard a sound that did not seem organic to our neighborhood. At first we thought it was the emergency vehicles but upon second listen we understood that it was something different. It was a persistent, headstrong, longing announcement. My soul remembered the sound.

The geese were coming home. All week flocks of geese have been flying over. They are returning from their winter vacations and their honks are laced with feelings very familiar to me. They will fly through Spring's bluster to the place they love the most.

I grew up moving around a good bit. I struggled when people asked me where I was from. As an adult I tell people I am from New Mexico because it was a place where my heart felt free. Now home feels less like a place. Home is wherever my two guys are. I love them best and when I'm away all I want to do is going honking back to wherever they are.