A House

– She walks. Away from her house, she places each step. It is her steps which become most real. She focuses on each step. The imprint on the earth each leaves and the way once left behind, the breeze erodes the perfect outline. She has moved on by the time her footprints are no longer what she left, however. Her attention is on the next step. There is no count. There is no distance. There is nothing real, except each new step. She walks. Through a dozen lifetimes, she takes steps. She never leaves the moment. Each new step. She returns home, but she has been transformed. She looks back but all the imprints have eroded. Her journey has taken her away and back again. She can no longer trace either departure or return, nor pinpoint how long after departure she started to long for home. Having returned finally, she realizes this is no longer home.