The Maple Trees

(and we bought our home....)

I could never leave my quiet street,

Its maple trees all afire

In the fall,

The vibrant character

Of its people,

Of its houses.

I could make tracks on a million streets,

Leave my print

In fallen leaves,

Leave my scuff marks

In new Spring mud,

In wet cement.

But I know where to find home,

On a gentle, unremarkable street,

Full of the little comforts I need,

Familiar voices, well-known faces,

Receptive hearts, clear minds,

And the wrap-around glow

Of a place I recognize as Sanctuary.