My man and I moved home last weekend, which has meant constant upheaval for several weeks. I took this photo in our former street on the night of a supermoon and can’t help thinking how the stillness of the houses and the apparent agitation of the moon makes it resemble the start of an encounter of the third kind.
On the other hand, these are all utterly familiar things, each of which speaks of home.
What means home to you? How would you feel if that was removed? Can you channel that emotion into a tale or poem that says something about what it is to be human bereft of and seeking a home?
If you write or create something prompted by this, please send an email to judydarley(at)iCloud.com to let me know. With your permission, I’ll publish it on SkyLightRain.com.