The mere sight of my motherland was a salve to my troubled and wearied mind. The hills rolled like a welcoming duvet of green and in them lay sleeping the bones of my ancestors. I could hear them calling me home in their sweet slumber, back to the land where I belong, back to the cradle of my people where our songs are still sung. As the last of the sun's rays caressed the treetops, my mud laden boots trod familiar roads. The path rose to greet my feet as I climbed the hill to my home, a place where I can rest myself, body and soul. I was back in God's country and I would never leave again.

By yogibear, October 30, 2013.