Carving a pumpkin in October, first time ever, in an old two store house with tall doors.
Each time the door is opened, comes in the cold and fresh evening,
Taking you to your roots extending to the stove heated rooms of child-hood, chilled with the freeze of hallway.
On a continent so far from home -which has been a pseudo concept in years of depression-,
In an unfamiliar house with faucets from the previous century,
Essence is invoked by the peace of mind,
this is the land where soul belongs to,
and from where it has been sent to the exile of years.
Back here, tired but happy with tears in the eyes.
Looking outside the window and repeating for hours and hours:
I am happy, thank you, I am so happy, thank you, thank you!
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