My world is full of sarongs in summer,
And hot humid birthdays feasting on prawns at the fish markets.
How can I return to the battle cry of foggy grey mornings,
Of birthdays in the snow,
And lack of light,
When my heart now awakens to the sound of laughing Kookaburras,
And palm trees swaying in unison with the sea.
Paper bark trees and blazing Wattle stand in the silence of one hundred degrees,
Bowing to that red moment just before sunset.

I often miss the grey stone of Alba,
Her castles and bagpipes and tiny cobbled streets.
I miss the sound of the wind as it whistles round ancient corners,
And the cosy-fire Hogmanays eating black bun and cherry cake.
How the heart can ache for those precious moments that cancel out the darker memories.

Today my heart holds something more dear,
More than the memories,
More than the stone -
I now have people who love me
And whom I love.
They chose me,
And now the war of belonging is over.
I am home.

Roz Winters 2012