When my travels are over and I've gone where my heart desires, I get back into my car and follow the familiar roads that lead back to where I live. Where the bear sentinel stands guard as we come and go . . .
and the flowers we planted bloom . . .
and I can push my old reliable key into the familiar lock . . .
and turn it as I’ve done thousands of times before . . .
and it opens to the place where I can see the dent in the wall from moving a desk and the marks on the doorframe that note how children have grown. Where the stairs have a familiar creak and there’s a knob that will never tighten on the cabinet. Where I can find the light switch in the dark and know the number of steps by heart. Where I am happily home again.