Finding Home
Where was home? It was an innocent enough question, but as I lay awake pondering, I realised it was one without an easy answer. Where was home? Was it the house with the Jacaranda tree that deposited carpets of purple atop the chilly surface of our backyard pool? Or what about the one with the chickens, hidden away in their rows of monolithic tin sheds? Maybe it was the house where if you listened closely you could hear the sea at night? No, it wasn’t any of them. So maybe it was the house tucked away behind the seas of sugarcane, or the one on – what was it – Waterlily Lane? No, not there either.
