Growing up in a Midwestern town,
I’ve become accustomed to those endless
fields of corn, fields of wheat,
fields of unending aspirations for something new.
The journey from Midwest to Atlantic
seems so arduous a task
that I’ve only made it twice these past thirty-one years.
Unlike the first time, the drive seems interminable,
and with more stops along the way,
the coast and its beauty feel so very far away.
But then I make it.
We make it.
The endless waves stretch beyond sight and imagination,
dotted with bits of confused land
and the occasional yellow-sailed boat.
I sit and watch and listen and become one with my surroundings.
I have finally arrived home.
Written after arriving in Rockport, MA on July 1st, 2014.