Home is not walls, nor roof, floor, nor a set of french doors.
Home is a state of mind.
It’s a place we go to become ourselves
Home can be traveling the autobahn
It can be playing video games alongside friends with laughter vibrating in the airwaves
It’s finding a companion who needs you and learning you need them too
Home is a decision, a choice that this is where I’m most comfortable, this is where I can be myself.
Home is a state of mind, a state of being, and a statement of self.

Goleta the Goodland

I can’t recall a time, before Goleta the Goodland
It lingers in the veins, this destination of decency
It’s flavor a recollection of pleasant ideas
It’s sky a foggy memory to behold
I’ve not come across another town like it
It calls to the soul for a return
To smell the sea, hear the gulls, and swim it’s peopled currents
There is a time when you can see the heart of the town
It’s not at festivals or parades as is the norm of others
But at moments of elation in our children, their graduations and events
Traveling through the throng, you can see and hear pride and joy wistfully on the wind.
Goleta is a grand home, it’s land beautifully sculpted as if God wished for one single sanctuary on Earth
Maybe, perhaps, when I am a better man, I’ll be worthy to return