Home again. In the place where my inclinations are real and heard, but my words must be chosen carefully, since what we have created is a forever place. I hear the calls of a favored few, needing to know they are not alone. I even hear the calls of those who blinked out without hellos or goodbyes along the way. Our bodies move us in and out of space, increasingly less likely to reach the same spot twice. I am waiting now for the signs I need to see. I am offering my gratitude to the angels who bring me treasured tokens of joy. Paddling the waves of life is no metaphor, the tides are real, the depths scary. The sun is either hot or hidden, the clouds can always mean rain. I'm looking for the other kayakers, as usual, and keeping my eyes on that point on the horizon where heavenly rest awaits. I know we'll get there while we are still breathing. I have been there before. Just keep moving towards it, just keep afloat. We tell ourselves what we need to know to keep from going under.