heading home

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home. ― Edith Sitwell

And the pieces fell, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle – all jumbled and messed up. And there they lay at her fingertips. Waiting.

It was late. The air was cool, and fresh. It tickled her senses.

The music played – songs from way back when, songs that triggered memories in the early hours.

Six bottles – spilled on the floor. Six bottles – of what it meant before.

The stars shone down, with all their wisdom and age. And she danced in the kitchen, to the sound of rain.

And this was the ending – the ending of something big she began. But it was also the beginning – the beginning of a new grand plan.

Goodbyes rolled out like red carpet, flush with riches and warmth. For someone who liked words, she was speechless – silently grateful for the lessons of the earth.

So after all these hours, all these moments found, she was doing some thinking, and decided it was time to come around.

And the rain stopped falling. The sun spilt her rays. The jigsaw pieces fell together, to form the oceans waves. And those six bottles, that lay empty on the floor. They meant something different, to what they meant before.

And in the early hours, she let it all go. The day had come, she was heading home.