I awoke this morning before dawn, our bedroom air still heavy with sleep. I took straight to my studio, a pen poised over an empty expanse of notebook. Grounded-ness. In mornings like these and weeks like these, it is not enough to remind myself over and again what constitutes home. I return to words allowing them all to tumble out, arranging them just so until finally they fit and make sense. I return to our urban farmhouse where the energy and passion enlivens and recharges me. And that garden, those chickens, a few minutes barefoot against the earth, fingers dug deep into the dirt. It's all I need to return to myself, my heart.