With the frothy waves of Lake Michigan washing ashore, our beach walk is being recorded with a trail of wet foot prints.
I have my sister to one side of me and my cousin to the other and as we talk, I realize how deep my connection is to these women.
We share the same childhood DNA. We had the same teachers. We know the same cast of characters and, naturally, we share a grandmother.
We are here to celebrate my auntie's 80th birthday and she has been like a second mother to me. We continue to be close and even share a love of lighthouses, buying each other trinkets whenever we get a chance.
She loves lighthouses for their serenity and I love them because they serve as beacons to show us the way.
On the walk we talk about everything from childhood aches, to career shifts, to trips we hope to take.
I am at home with these women and my entire clan. This homing pigeon has learned that home is a moving target. It's less about geography and more about the people in your life who reach back to the root of you, who need no explanation, who share your memories, who know the taste of your favorite childhood dessert -- Tisha's apple pie -- without hesitation.
This homing pigeon will always circle back to these special people.
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