What is home? Is it the house we’ve lived in much of our life? Is it our town or city or country? Is it things, old familiar things, books you can find on your shelf, familiar kitchen tools, the way the light changes through the day, through the seasons? Is it the view from the kitchen window, or the neighbours passing by on their regular walks? Is it something we can take with us no matter where we go?
Is home in my heart?