Many, many years ago

borne away aboard a plane so many leagues from where I came, I flew to foreign lands of giant lakes and crowded streets, a boy not old enough to know or need a place where he could feel or be at ease. How ever could I've known how difficult I'd find it all to find a home where I belonged?

However many years would pass

before I'd grow, before I'd guess that home was where my stories nest, blending with the ones I once upon a time had read. Stories I now try to pass to travelers, young or worn or cold or torn between the present and the gone, searching for a place to call their own.

Stories rooting us to home.