They call it
A longing
to return to a land
that you have never been.
Though I do not know
how it is possible
I know that when the winds
blow a certain chill
through my bones
the warmth of an enormous hearth
surrounds my soul,
the clattering of tankards
and the cacophonous orchestra
of laughter fills my ears.
In my vision
I step out from this lodge
and my eyes are met
with the brilliant hues
and garnets
that coalesce
into the most humbling array
of Northern Lights
that any soul could hope to see.
A soft flurry sets in
as gentle snowflakes
kiss my skin.
My eyes close.
My home
to which I
have never been.


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