Standing on the street that for now is my home.

The sky flashes and the tympanies resound across the night sky.

I listen to the mantra of the crickets and the chorus of raindrops.

The street lamps cast a series of glimpses through the mist – like cinematic pictures on the pavement.

I look up and down the street and smell the air, the wet quiet stillness.

And as the day yielded to night so did my fancies – from one to another, 

where one lets go – a new one takes hold.

For now only mystery, but for unseen possibilities to turn the page

As cyclical as the rain which fell before.  Flames reignite.

And finding a door – closing to open into itself, 

I pause to wonder.  And enjoy the flight of taking chances.

And not to question, only be grateful for the beauty and grace of the fall.

Wherever I stand, give in or give way to – the choice is my own.

And I am always home.