Home is a season

by Stephanie Platter

Home is a season
A doing
A done
A longing
A haven
A song to be sung

A knowing
A settled
A heart hanging hat
A washing
A wearing
A knick and a knack

A picnic
A berry pie
Lazy noon nap
Adventures
By lakeside
A fireside camp

A circle
A diamond
A threshold
A lift
A toaster
A cake plate
A shower of gifts

A red chair
A sunrise view
Stars out tonight
Ten thousand Ws
Point to the lights

No buses
No shuttles
No trains to be caught
No metro
Or tube station
Airline depart

A scene and a thriving
A walk up the stairs
A cradle
A rocker
Small table and chairs

A tissue
A tea cup
Umbrella undone
A kettle on
Come inside
Strangers welcome

A church bell
A steeple
A hymn from the Psalms
A stained glass
Reflection
A peace and a calm

A pine scent
In candlelight
Gingerbread toasting
Nativity carol sing
Christmas Eve hosting

Tide out
A seagull
A sifting of sands
A rolling
A rumble
A crash on the land

A mountain
A meadow
A wild bouquet
A blossom
A fragrance
In scented array

Holy
And airy
Wind wafting in warm
A bedroom
A tablecloth
Linen and lawn

The heart
A reflection
Of all it surveys
Each face
A location
A presence, a grace

It’s warm toast
And coffee
Fresh honey and comb
A place to be centered
Be it humble
A home

A follow-up reflection:

Tomorrow I fly home. The imagery of returning “home” flooded me as I pondered this month’s Kindred theme RETURN. A month away from home fuels perspective. I feel myself suddenly shrinking on the fleshy surface of this spinning sphere, recognizing my own unimportance on it. Yet the angels who inhabited each of the pleasant corners that I was allowed to explore always seemed to smile, nod, offer help, and graciously extend friendship despite the short duration of my stay. People define the journey. So…

To my dear Helene, merci boucoup for your kindness, and to your husband Jonathan for making the best crepes of my life. To my gracious friend Val who taught me the London Tube and spoke life into my soul. To the astounding Kate and Spencer and the students and leaders of the King’s trip: for teaching me so much daily and for showing care for one another while we navigated the great city of light. To Anouk at Charlotte’s on the Ile de St. Louis for buying me a pot of tea and telling me of the city you love and the man you love in it. I hope you write that book someday. I can’t wait to read it. To the Tumbleweeds at Shakespeare and Co. who showed me around and introduced me to the ghosts of that lovely stop. To the Lithuanian man who grew up keeping bees, thank you for now keeping travelers safe in the waiting lanes at Gatwick. To the dear woman at the shop in Stow-on-the-Wold who lost her husband recently but took time to tell me her story of true love, and, with tears in her eyes, wished me the same kind of sweet love someday. To Annie, for finding Clotted Cream for me so I could introduce the family to true “Tea.” To Ben and Jess as you begin your new lives together, may the Lord bless you richly. To the many loves we met at the wedding, keep dancing through life. To the music makers on each street and in every tube station. To the salespeople and restauranteurs: you corner-of-the-mouth smilers who helped as I attempted to speak the languages and failed. To Jules, whose eyes lit up near the “Amelie” bridge when he told me of his side of the city. To the staff at the Churchill Arms in Paxford who meant every kindness and packed love into every bite of food.

You all made each day of travel worth each new step. That almond croissant is worth another trip back to the Patisserie on the corner of Rue Scipion in the 6th. And to the Irish men filling up the pub as I write this, may you all feel like winners tonight.

To each face, each beautiful face that offered me new glorious perspective, you defined the cultures you inhabit, you speak with distinction, location, joy. May your lives be blessed as you have blessed mine. And to you, readers, may your eyes be opened as mine have to the beauty of each face you are privileged to be graced by today.

“Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home” ~ C.S. Lewis