Going Home Again

It has always been said, that you can’t go home again
But those people who said that, forgot all about the heart.

When I think of home, it is the valley and the river
Which housed me as a child in Beaver Valley.
The hills enveloped me with wonder
The rocks beckoned to me, to come and explore
The river called its song across the fields
And I would always follow.

Alone, I trudged, just a little girl, along the banks
Up the grassy slopes, way, way up to the rocks
Where caverns and caves whispered of excitement.
I learned to trust myself enough to crawl along the ledges
And sit with legs dangling over the valley.
To drink in the fresh air and feel the kind sun on Old Baldy
Was home for me, and for the golden eagles who soared above me.

The old farm house perches still, on a knoll with new owners
Familiar and dear, but with a fresh classy look, bright paint
New windows and roof, verandahs adding opulence
It blurs in my mind, and I am again the little girl on the lawn
With dolls and bears and cats, each one named, each one happy at home.

At night when the stars twinkle, I know it is the same sky
That looms over my real home in the valley
I am kin with the moonbeams and I sparkle with the dew.
As I think of Beaver Valley, I know I will always be able
To go home again.

cailin raine