Home is . . .

My writing teacher in her blog (http://www.roselle-angwin.blogspot.com/) suggested writing on the theme of home without mentioning where one lives or any of the places in which one has lived. As ever, she stimulated a flurry of thoughts, the first of which - having had a migraine on Saturday – was:

v     Home is what I feel when the pain of a migraine is so bad that I let go.

I could add to that:

v     Home is what I feel at the end of a migraine when my life is clear of all irrelevancies and I understand again what is important.

Some other thoughts:

      Home is . . .

v     writing

v     walking in the countryside

v     getting into bed at the end of the day

v     being away from home and all responsibilities

v     an ecstatic puppy scrabbling all over me when all I want is the wine bottle and the fridge

v     the ‘Welcome to Devon’ sign on the motorway

v     waking to birdsong

v     listening to rain on the conservatory roof

v     watching the sun set behind the hill on a winter’s afternoon by the fire.

And the place where I’ve felt most at home, but is the furthest from my homeland:

v     Australia.

But of course, most importantly, and without wishing to be sentimental, home is:

v     anywhere, with Frog.*

* I asked Frog if he minded me putting this and he said, ‘Daft bat’. I think that’s an OK.