There is a front porch about four hours south of here that is as close to heaven as I'll get while I'm earthside. Inside there's a coffee pot that my friends keep hooked up just for me, because none of them drink coffee. There's a yard full of playing puppies and large trees spilling with Spanish moss.
There is nowhere on earth that I'd rather drink my morning coffee. There is no breeze in the world as refreshing, no home so full of love. My second family lives there. My art thrives there. I am safe there.
Savannah is still singing its siren song and the mast of my ship is breaking.