Prompt: Write about your home without mentioning your house, town, or street. –Natalie Goldberg

Home. Home is where doves dive and trees dance and creatures bump in the night underneath a full moon that I. Am. Looking. At. Home is where I turn into myself and hate myself and love myself. Home. It has been where I love and where I scold others. There is fire there, and ice. The stars say I should built it near water–that I am like the otter. I oblige. Home is larger than a bread box but modest yet. Home.
Home.
Home.
Happy.
Humble.
Home.