Tracks of my heart

I’ve never really felt settled. Ever.

woman walking on road
Photo by Ruslan Zzaebok on

I used to think of me as an explorer, until the day that faced with the choice of going somewhere on holiday my only desire was the arms of my parents, the familiar smells of my childhood, the sound of the river water rumbling and echoing in the valley, the wake up every morning to a birdsong melody… And in the midst of these memories I found HOME.

HOME is a place your heart call for, is a place you love dearly and passionately.

Is where people that glue your happiness are.

Is a place that overwhelms you with memories.

A place you could recognize by a sound or a smell any place, anywhere, anytime…

It is the smell of spring, and the colours of autumn.

The cold and rainy days, and the long and warm summer ones.

Is every field I’ve ever ran through, and every fruit I’ve ever picked from the orchard.

Is the olive tree that I used to rest my head against while reading, or playing hide and seek with the sun and the clouds.

Is the little treasures and beautiful nature jewels I used to discover in my ‘Anne of Green Gables’-‘Tom Sawyer’ ish daily adventures.

HOME is every place you’ve ever loved and feel safe. And I miss mine, badly!


All posts and short stories on this blog are the works of and @postcardsfromlifelately. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without the express and written permission of the author is strictly not allowed. You may use excerpts and links or reblogs of this material provided that complete and clear credit is given to and with clear directions to the original content.



20 thoughts on “Tracks of my heart

  1. very beautiful post about home, it means so many different things to different people, i read once that a traveler needs a home to return to otherwise he is just a refugee, so much i understood from that one phrase. your writing is stellar!

    Liked by 1 person

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