Where Home Is

A Dream Within a Journey

Photo by Jonah Brown on Unsplash

In spring last year, I sat in the park and watched as a caterpillar climbed a stalk of grass, slowly and diligently balancing herself along the flexible stem with her many legs.

This was at a time I was traveling in Europe, and although my trip was not exceeding the length of my visa, I found myself reevaluating what home means to me. Watching the caterpillar, I wondered at her home in the park with roaming deer, and green parakeets bickering in the trees in London’s largest park.

I don’t have extensive knowledge of insects, I don’t know when or how or if she would spread wings, but I imagined that she would. Somewhere within a nook of a leaf or branch, she would use what is naturally within her to create a nest.

Abundance is all around her. There’s nutriments aplenty, and the predators that threaten her are avoided within the folds of brush and breeze. Home is all around her and within.

With a plethora of nature to call home, she would create an abode from her soul when she spins a cocoon to silently perform a tiny miracle. The only thing inhibiting her search is expansiveness.

Even with her many legs, she will tire and need to rest and find comfort in a place to let her wings develop. Having thrust myself into fringe theatre in a foreign land, there…