Tonight I overlook the streets of Harlem, New York. It is late so the streets have hushed from the busy day, loud cars, and rushing people. The apartment is quiet with only the sound from the small air conditioning vent blowing into the space of the room. There is a sense of somberness in my mood, a nostalgia that sometimes seeps through me unexpectedly.

Have you ever wondered where home truly is? I learned a while back that home cannot be a physical place. When my mother passed we sold the home that I had grown accustomed to living in as my haven.  A  dreadful feeling of loss overcame me. Not only loss of my mother, but of my home, my security. With my family dispersing to different areas and my childhood items disappearing home could not be a physical place for me anymore.

Lately, I've come to believe that home can be found in moments. Moments of comfort with the one you care for, moments of indescribable peace, moments of pure presence and bliss.

Tonight I am not home. I am in a memory far, far away from here. Closing my eyes, I take myself back: I feel a comforting breeze brush my cheeks as the hammock beneath me sways back and forth, I hear the sounds of mockingbirds and blue jays conversing with one another in eager tones, I see his warm caramel eyes gazing out beyond, and I smell summer encompassing me.  And there's simply nowhere else I'd rather be.

The sirens of an ambulance take me back to my real senses. To the recognition of being alone right now. But what would moments of tranquility and bliss be if we didn't have somber nights? Nights like these that teach stillness and patience. And that no matter the loss, we can find home in the simplistic but most precious of moments.