Home Fires are Always Burning

My childhood home street address.

Came home after a 10 hour day of ESL groups; kicked off my shoes and slithered onto the couch and didn't even eat dinner and woke up two hours later, realizing I needed to post.

I take this daily posting pledge seriously, and as I do, my writing becomes more real, more valued, and more precious to me. Tonight as I left my workplace in Queens, I asked the angels for a sign. I told them I was feeling weary and wondering if I was indeed on my path and to please leave me a sign if I was.The penny found on 36th Avenue would have been enough, but as I stood at the 34th Street Station, waiting for the F train, I knew I was being shown love and indeed on my correct path as the cars whizzed by and I read the numbers and one car away was 9804, the street number of where my parents, brothers, sister and I lived in El Paso. I sprinted to it, climbed on, sat down, and smiled. This was the second time I had seen this car number in only days, whereas I had been looking for such a combination of numbers for years.

Tonight I realize my parents are gone, but they co-generate with the angels telling me they are near, and it is enough to get me home, rested, and ready for  the next day of my life. I have a  lot of writing to do.