When I was younger, I sought change (as we all do).
Little did I know that change would be my constant (as we all learn).
It’s only now, after so many years of it, that I realize how much I love all those little things that stay the same.
I’ve collected them like pebbles. Blips in the radar. Tiny superstitions that I hold with(in) myself and no one else.
The big dipper is still there.
The liver spots on my hands are still there.
Radio stations are still called animal names wherever you drive.
Grass dances in the wind no matter where you find yourself.
So yes I may blow from here to there, but the varicose vein patch that’s lived on my thigh since I was 20 is in all my pictures. I drink from a coffee cup my mom gave my dad for his second father’s day. My dining room table is covered in cloth that’s lived with my parent’s since I was born.
All those things have stayed the same, even though in the grand scheme, they might as well be invisible.
But when I see them – the spots, the stars, the grass – I come home. Every time I see them I come home. Because for someone that is always changing, leaving, moving on, home is something you take with you. It’s something you build inside of yourself, made up of all those little things that stay the same.
My home is the big dipper.
My home is grass in the wind.
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Cover image by Jessica Barratt
Jessica Barratt 