Home Safe

I walk across these old wooden floors,

these planks of

Scarred and battered

living.

Life has passed over them.

Many lives.

Other bare souls,

calloused and rough-skinned.

They've trod.

They've felt.

And my toes trace each groove,

the crossover from the silky weave

of the faded carpet

to the cool, rough boards,

the bits of old nail heads

bruising the soft places

so many times

I've lost count.

A sliver here,

A sliver there.

Stains and scratches.

Gouges.

No beauty there...not for the

artist's eye.

But for me

priceless.

Because my bare soul

has found comfort here.

Refuge.

When I walk these floors

I am home.

Safe.