I left the house that day with unceremonious brevity

I neglected even a backward glances at its dog eared shingles

It was all I ever knew of shelter
All I ever knew of protection

It was always there for me and I thought little of it
It was always there and always open

I entered it for the first time with but a few hundred breaths upon my lungs

Later I screamed within it for freedom as though it were a millstone about my neck

I grew into that freedom. Venturing farther and farther afield with each and every passing year

Until it no long felt like home and I felt as a stranger there

My memories were viewed as though through the wavy ancient glass that still hung in each window pane

My memory, like the perfectly imperfect glass, distorted the viewing

I never looked back that day.
Not with my eyes.  
But with age comes the desire to make sense of the journey.

So now I look back and I know

It was were I began