The sea rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.
Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.
I know hours empty as a beggar’s tin cup on a rainy day, empty as a
soldier’s sleeve with an arm lost.
Speak to me…
-Carl Sandburg, Home Thoughts
Carl and today’s mystery letter writer have a point - there’s nothing quite like the feeling of home. And picking up litter’s become a part of my daily routine what with all the cat babysitting I’ve been doing lately. Though I think the letter writer may have been referring to trash. We may never know.