The smell of: my mom’s homemade spaghetti sauce, wood smoke and cow dung, baking bread, my son’s unwashed hair after a week in the sun, rain storms, breast milk breath, digging dirt, wild flowers, herbal essence shampoo, my fertile pussy.
The taste of: berries freshly picked, honeysuckles, cherries that we only got to eat once a year, mango’s on the beach, pineapple weed, peach schnappes, chai on a rainy day, salty sweat.
The sound of: children playing, babies sucking milk from my breast, a tea pot whistling, leaves click clicking together when the wind blows, coyote’s and hyenas at night, sex, 90’s sitcom theme songs, birds waking me up outside my tent in Kenya, my breath while I build to orgasm.
The feel of: my dad’s kiss on my forehead before bed, the curve of my children’s soft round bums, the pages of my favourite book between my fingers, someone having my back, strawberry seeds in my teeth, a warm mug of tea, sand in my toes, compassion, skin touching skin, the family bed, sun on my naked body, lips on lips, my hand between my legs in just the right spot.
The sight of: wheat blowing in the wind, true empathy in the eyes of my child as I clean the mess from an overflowed toilet, someone I love ugly crying, red dirt, Acacia trees, babies on mama’s backs, hard working hands, my 37 year old self, women orgasming in the sacred Bodysex circle.
What is home to you?