Whenever I come home, I invariably think of Home. I come up North and I think of Home. Yes, the Northwest has been my home, but it's very different than my Home. The South is alive in it's own right. She is beautiful. She is everything you've heard, she is unknowable to you, she is nothing that you assume, and everything that you want.
"I'm sayin Georgia ..Georgia
A song of you comes as sweet and clear
as moonlight through the pines."
Sometimes, She is warm, soft, and quiet. Like a soft spring day, walking through the woods hand in hand, not talking, just taking in it all in, her and I. Other days she is a hurricane, a force of nature, her fury destroying things, but also bringing new growth. And no matter what, no matter what her mood, She is always beautiful. Always breathtaking. Always my home. No matter where I go. Everyplace I've laid my head is somewhere else. Sometimes those places are interesting, more often than not they are just annoyances, another place to be before I can return home. She is always where my heart is. Always in those warm hands. In a place where sand and other detritus scoured my body and soul, all I had to do was wait for a quiet moment and think about her, think about my home.
"Other arms reach out to me. Other eyes smile tenderly.
Still in peaceful dreams I see the road leads back to you."
She is everything magical in this world. Not as old as other places. Not as historical. Or so they say. You see her history when you look in her forgotten places. In the spots the tourists and passers by miss. The spots where she is not what is expected or needed. It's where you see her soul. She always shines, no matter where you look. But it's when you look deeper that you see everything she is. And if you are patient, if you can be strong enough to not gloss over, to look deeper. She will unfold worlds. Always amazing, always beautiful.
"Georgia, Georgia,
No peace, no peace I find.
Just this old, sweet song
Keeps Georgia on my mind."
She is everything I missed when I felt I wasn't good enough to go home. When I wandered off to try and be what I felt I needed to be to go home again. You have to be the right kind of man to call her home. Many have hurt her over the years. She is so strong. Look at Atlanta now. Remember when she burned? When Sherman marched across destroying what he could to make her unlivable for all. She is stronger than all that. She has scars to be sure. But they add to her beauty. They show the world that she is above and stronger than any hurt any could inflict on her. I've hurt her myself. I'm not proud of it. But, someday, I'll have worked hard enough to be let back into her arms. Into her Heart. And then, I'll be home.
She is more than a place. She is more than my Heart. She lives in my mind. As a child she was my Mother. She was my Grandmother. She was the Mother of us all that knew to look at her that way. As a man, she is my best friend, my lover. My soul.
She can be rough, she can be soft, but at all times she is beautiful. She is amazing. She is mine. She is no ones. She can never be owned. Just admired and partnered. No one can dominate her. So many have tried. You have to work with her. Work for her. Serve while leading. It doesn't have to make sense to you. You don't live there. She ain't your home. She ain't your Heart. All in all she has to be a part of you. Your home and your other half. She has to be your breath. You have to feel lost when you aren't home, but carry her in your heart always. She is Eternal. She is the warm sun in the mornin as you stretch and start your day. She is the clear sky at night as you watch the moon. She is everything you want. She is everything you have been. She is everything you are. She is Home.
