Belonging

Elvira standing guard by the snakeskin

Sometimes I wonder what I am doing here. I remember how this city chick rode a giant wave, got dumped on the land and stayed. Struggled to lose her sea legs and learned so slowly to love the earth instead between her toes. Now I crave the changing light and seasons, the path of the sweet moon across the night sky, the swallows when they come to nest outside my bedroom window.

And days like today, when I amble down my dirt driveway at sunset with cockatoos screeching above me as the last rays paint the sky and find a bag full of snake skins shoved in my letterbox with a hastily scribbled note of warning and care, my heart fairly explodes with love for this sweet place.

Home is where you make it and this place has embraced me, accepted me and loves me in a way like none before. Tonight this little fox is very gratefully tucked in her beloved burrow, with the trees and the sky and the stars and all who live and love here too wrapped around me.

Belonging is a curious impulse. We are taught that we must love the homes we have created for us. True to some extent, as we chose them and were instrumental in the shape they took. And yet sometimes the fit is constricting and there’s no avoiding the impulse to escape. It is not until we find the one that fits just right do we realise our Goldilocks instinct was spot on.

Life is simply a matter of magnetism. Set your compass to true north and take flight until you find Your Place (wherever, whatever or whomever that may be). And when you do finally find yourself welcomed with open arms, as your feet sink deep into strangely familiar territory, let the tendrils of your life curl around and about you. Cherish where you have found yourself, so that no matter where the wind blows you may continue to belong.