Sometimes you sit here over coffee wanting to address these birds in the tree limbs just outside, each fluttered wing an aria unto itself. To say to them, sing me and know they know you mean it, how you want to be home already, somewhere. And hear an answer well enough to let you finally weep to see it.
I often feel this, but the problem is that there is no home anymore.
Such a powerful observation, Maciej.
This is old, but explain why I feel that way https://maciejmodzelewski.com/2021/11/29/the-definition-of-a-home/