Homecoming

Returning after a brief away,
never sweeter—
the familiar waits,
welcoming, sane,
the quiet holds me close.

A fall evening—
gray sky, cool breeze—
again I feel the first knowing:
these rolling hills,
old poplars standing guard,
oak trees, modest homes,
faces I know—
this is my place.

Rain drifts soft and cool,
ragweed and pokeweed line the street.
On the porch steps—
a red-tailed hawk cries,
kee-eeeeeparr—
our wild companion
loosening silence,
and a quiet gladness stirred.

The wind moves the chimes,
a cool song through open windows,
singing freely,
breathing contentment
into every quiet corner
of home.