Home and the Miraculous

Home is not a place for walking on water.  It does not give itself to miracles of this sort.  It is a place for wading deeply, up to the neck, until its crests pass over us and we breathe the still necessary air of the world, only in gasps, between its warm and uterine swells.  This is its miracle, that we find ourselves submerged in it, like a womb, and yet we do not drown.

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