Where I come from

Where I come from, Sunday morning is a long happy tumble and tangle in bed.

Actually most mornings are.

You never get out without a cuddle.



Where I come from,

we show unreasonable happiness

when we meet each other again

at the end of a journey …

at the end of the day,

at the end of each small or big or long or hard separation.



Where I come from, we wave goodbye.

We wave and wave and wave till the other person waving is just a speck.

And then wave some more.



Where I come from, you never sleep angry.

You are not allowed to remain angry either.

Love, the happy puppy, put its head down

and wet-nose nuzzles your feet in abject apology.

It licks and bites,

Mews and cuddles you back into a good mood.




Where I come from, you can stop living.

Stopping to love, alas, is not an option extended.