At home

Among shelves of cedar,
covered in dust, I am drawn to
the joy of many and the knowledge of a few.
The smell of an old and warm living room
after the tea had been drunk
and the fire burnt down
lingers between a million pages.
The entire world is an inerasable pencil stroke away.
 

Calm reigns the air,
a patient expectancy
hovers over diligently slow decay.
So many hours to forget,
so many stories to remember -
deliverance of oblivion.
 

I feel lifted up and burdened down
at the same time.
Time – so meaningful in here,
and yet so irrelevant.
Now for a chair,
now for some light,
now for a mind to let go,
to wonder,
to wander,
to return enriched and enchanted.
 

Here I breathe, here I find a home.
My home.
Everybody’s home?
It lingers.