It's beautiful but I just want to go home

I thought I was the big adventurer, the traveler.

inhaling every new scent, site and situation.

But I'm not, it's beautiful here, but I 

just want to go home, to the messy house,

and the dog walking, to times of boredom

and 

hugging my friend, Julia,

and working on a problem with Yulia,

coffee in the morning on the back porch

and facing off with a month of "plants in the wrong places".

I want to go home where I don't really do anything,

because it's easier than not doing anything

far from home.

and my flute, the piano and guitar will all be waiting

for me and my clumsy efforts - I may even procrastinate

because composiing new music is hard.  

It's beautiful here but I just want to go home

where my brother is, the one who left for

months at a time.

We will walk and talk,

walk and talk

We'll both be home.