The winds of Ireland are blowing.I don’t know where they’re going,
but as I listen,
they are carrying me home.
Home to myself…
Home to my heart…
Home to a place that is everywhere…
and that I’ve never left.
Home…where I have always been.
I am coming home.
The wind is dancing…
can you feel it?
It is showing me the way.
It is dancing in the rain
and through the garden…
and it sings…
Come with me.
Come with me.
Come with me.
Can you see?
Watch closely now…
This is the way home.
Wow. You have the soul of a poet. The poet is you.
Thank you, Momma.
Evocative.