“The grass is greener on the other side”
But as a patchwork of emerald fields emerges through the clouds
I beg to differ.
The doors open and the air fills your lungs
The air you thought you had forgotten
Always carrying rain, an air you can almost taste.
The roads slick, pools of light on the motorway
Night has fallen
Far back from the road, a small house, Christmas tree in the window
A candle calling the wanderer home.
Time changes everything and nothing at all
Frost on the grass in the early morning
The old rituals, tea and a chat.
Old routines, comfortable like well-worn shoes,
So many memories and stories, re-enacted,
Laughter over clinking glasses.
With those who knew you before visas, booking flights and weekend Skype
Before you referred to the temperature in Fahrenheit.
Going back fits like a glove,
Palm and fingers smooth
From the hands that held yours.