Is home truly where the heart is, or where the heart feels at home?

The sun rises behind grey clouds infused with faint orange, drifting in the morning sky just above the distant treeline.

Across the vast expanse of water, mountains rise to meet the sky, and the sky greets the mountains with tears.

A water tower stands tall, painted red and rusting from the misty air fed by the inlet.

If I am here, far from there, can this still be home? My heart settles into a deep pattern of strong beats and my breathing is full and crisp. Could this be home?

I tell myself to stop questioning. To let what is, be. To be in this, and let everything else fall away. I tell myself to stop searching for a label and fall into the pool of nothingness and emerge free, at peace, content with myself and where I am, where I chose in another time, to be.