Friday, September 28, 2012


I've been thinking a lot lately on what home actually means to me.  My town?  My country of birth?  My family?  Nostalgic memories of the past?  My current address?  Where my heart is (and just where might that be?)  Yes, all of that, but more than that.

I remember studying a poem in school years go, maybe when I was 11 or 12 years old, or perhaps just 10.  More accurately I remember just two lines of it:
    "home is the sailor home from the sea
      and the hunter home from the hill"
Those lines struck a cord with me years ago, and still do.  I googled them this morning and came up with two poets who included these lines in their poems.  A.E Housman, an English Classical scholar born is 1859, wrote 'Home is the Sailor', and Robert Louis Stevenson, the Scottish poet, wrote 'Requiem'.  I think it was the Stevenson version we studied, but its not really relevant.

I have traveled quite extensively and I'm not currently living in the country of my birth.  Each time I step on 'foreign' land I quickly begin noticing plants, rocks, trees etc which I believed indigenous to my birth country existing comfortably thousands of ocean miles away.  It was then I started realising that people are more similar than I'd imagined them to be also, and I could comfortably live is any one of these countries.  The boundaries in my mind began breaking down.

Now I feel 'home' is more of a concept than a place.  Home is where I find my nourishment, its more of a feeling than a place. 

I am very happy to call this Earth my home.

I'm linking this to Friday My Town Shoot Out!