When you know you’re home
Finding home in the
littlest of moments is unsurprising.
Raking the garden and
feeling the warmth that’s left in Hobart’s April sun.
Listening to my love as he
taps out the beat to the crescendo of the song he’s enjoying somewhere else in
the house.
Sitting here at the
computer, looking over rooftops and industry to Mount Direction and
feeling at
peace with time passing.
I once wrote, it's where I
decide to love that's home. And that's Hobart.
But people say you’re not a
local unless you’re born here.
An interloper, I put down
roots anyway. I didn’t do it alone. I decided to have a family. But not the
conventional type, it was one that I chose, and who chose me. Over the years, some of
us have grown apart, some of us have grown closer.
A few weeks back one of my closest loved
ones died.
And I realised that my
connection with Hobart was no longer an act of will. It wasn’t something I
decided. To put family to rest here means I will always be deeply connected
with this place, to this land, which they are a part of. I realised that it has made me and Hobart, inseparable.
What surprised me was finding home is in the biggest
moments too.
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