Sanctuary

A year to the day. That's when I had peace. Work and live in the Rhineland, a dream of all dreams. When I'm there it seems my whole entire life away from the place has been a life spent in exile.
Is it strange that I feel more connected to a place that has never been my home?
In the afternoon sun, on top of one of any of the many hills overlooking that corner of the world where Germany intersects with France, that's when the breathing feels the sweetest. That's when you can inhale and feel life entering, exhale and let it out. This is a place where a trillion wars were fought. Where Rome stopped. Where unrest lay. World conflicts started. I remember one night a friend of mine reminded me of that: "What does this place you go to look like? Can't look like anything worth anything. Dirty, disgusting place." That night he was the drunkest man in the state and the alcohol was talking. He can't understand. No, no body can, really. Hardly a graveyard. No where near a barbarian cesspool. Nothing of a wasteland. Far from ordinary. It is sanctuary, on top of any of the many hills.
Peace.
Thoughts.
Recharge.
Exhale.
It is all less sanctimonious these days.
So I yearn. I miss my home in that corner of the world. Pictures, they help to reflect. And I smile. But yearn.
For sanctuary, in the strangest place in the world to find it.