Wandering Home i have found a home in love’s low hills you’d never notice me, as you traced over the golden backs. the waves of reeds sing quietly muttering “today” and “now” and i do not worry about it, you know, all those dirty things our minds play games with while we’re gone. no, i am no harlot, my home is here under the sun, in the dirt, away from all and you are invited to our home of listening and waiting, to meet in the Great Silent heart and rest. do I sing here? yes.