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Having lived here five years on Hornby, I learned home is not a place as much as a feeling.  It is the people in my life that I carry in my heart, the ones everyday and the ones faraway.  It's the moments people here made me laugh with abandon, cry without shame, and the moments when hello or goodbye crack open with love.  To me, my home on Hornby isn't a place anymore. Its become the dazzling sunrise from the east and the wind tumbling the tall trees that surround. It's found in the happy walks either in the rain or the sun with Michael and our dogs. Its catching up with Becca or Juanita at the  Co-op checkout and the teatime break during Life Drawing. Its waving at each and every person that drives by and the impromptu conversations with people you come across at the beach.  And it is most especially the kind and fascinating people that inhabit my life; my students, my neighbours, and my dear friends that share bread, smiles, and happiness around our dining room table and the many tables we've been invited to around the island.  Home is the joy that lives in the interconnected lives, hands and hearts that fill this house and island.

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