There are stories in my bones, the ones full of old memories, the ones that make me dance the same dance over and over and over. A long time ago I was up rooted and dropped onto a desert island and expected to swim. My feet ached for the land I once called home, my hands ached for the green grass in the garden and my shoulders missed reaching for the fruit in the old great tree. My body ached for homes from previous lives, for homes of ones I had long forgotten, there were so many homes in these new, but old bones. Because bones never forget. So many homes these feet ran away from and too. So many places that gave hope, but only to strip it bare, so many times the Earth demanded my faith only to take it away. Until in this life I learnt. The only home I ever had was within. In my heart, in my mind and in my bones all the way to the soles of my feet and the tips of my toes. The ones which kiss the Earth when I am listening to her. She reminded me to remember, there is no place like the home you have carried all along.

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