Is there a more beautiful word?
Oh sure, maybe, probably, depending on one's state of mind, one's inclinations but, home is home and it tugs us back as surely as the moon tugs the tides.
We are home.
And the boys and their parents are on their way to their home. Owen cried bitterly when it was time to leave Lloyd. The men had spent a few hours washing the boat and cleaning some fish and doing all the things necessary to do when we get home from the island and he had completely reinstated himself back here. Chickens were fed and dogs were patted and toys were played with and juice was drunk and he could not understand why everyone couldn't just stay here, keep this party going, as he might say.
Yes, he really says that.
But I let him take a stuffed lizard home and he was satisfied with that and the promise that he could come back soon.
He did as he always does when they leave. He yells out the window at me.
"Mer! Take care of you goats and you chickens!" and then he thinks some more. "And take care of you dogs and Luna!" And then, he remembers one more thing for me to take care of. "And take care of you bluebirds!"
"I will!" I yell after them as they leave the driveway. "I will."
Oh home. Oh peace and chickens and bluebirds and my own bed and these giant trees and a trip to the island done and done and done with the boys and Owen will remember it, surely, and we'll go back. Not tomorrow, as he said we would when we left today, but one of these days.
When we crossed the bay to come home today, it was a fast, easy trip, unlike the one out to the island on Thursday and I held Gibson to me, wrapped in my arms and when Mr. Moon started up going fast, fast, Gibson slumped against me and was completely relaxed, his fat little hands on my arms, his head against my bosom. And there he stayed until we pulled into the marina and I never want to forget that, what it felt like, holding my grandson to me as we crossed the water, the air rushing past us so quickly, the boat skimming over the water, the labial wake we left behind us to dissolve back into the water of the bay, the roar of the motor putting us all into a place of isolation, each of us in perfect freedom to think or create myths or fantasize or make up poetry in our heads as we sped toward shore, as we left behind one world to step firmly onto another, even as we were all in the same world together.
We are all going to sleep good tonight.
I hope you do too.