Yesterday we visited a place we'd never been before.

The strange thing was that it didn't feel new.

It felt familiar.

Not because I had been there before, but because something inside me recognized it. As if my soul had been homesick for a place it had never actually known.

It made me wonder if home isn't a place we find.

Maybe it's something that already exists inside us, waiting for certain landscapes, certain light, certain quiet moments to wake it up.

If that's true, I wonder...

Can we learn to call that feeling back wherever we are?

I don't know yet.

For now, it's enough to know that the feeling exists.

And to pay attention when it returns.