A handful of years ago a woman told me only irresponsible people have freckles.
Looking down at my patined arms suprised she would say this to me, my eyebrows lifted.
Like waves they course down my arms, spray across my face, rivulets meander down my legs.
I suppose I could have stuck to the edges instead of laughing in the sun.
Scrunched in the shadows not loafed on the grass.
But locked up in how a lady should look sounds like a drag.
Stamping off slugs of snow sliding from my boots, flexing fingers to keep warm
I am keeping an eagle eye on the ditch opposite.
Almost dark, two brothers are shovelling. Last years client now this years.
Entrepreneurs in snow pants, counting their eggs before they are hatched.
One will have a shopping spree at the hobby shop, the other imagines a savings overflow.
Finally, I spot them headlights bouncing.
A swagger in their step, the kind you only have with a pocketful of money.
Home isn’t a purchase, indebted to the bank,subject to the whims and fancies of local financiers.
It’s where you have birthday parties, stay up all night wringing your hands, stay in love
Permanent address of lifeblood will catch the cinders swept into packing boxes, ignite.
Wherever you roam, you are always home.
using the Write Alm prompt, hearth, today.
Hearth and home are always one and the same for me.