Those of us who can see look at the sun’s rays reflecting off a flock of geese alighting on a field in the distance. Those of us who can hear listen to the whoosh of the air and the hum of the engine and the silence that fills the car. Arlo watches the streaks of light across the car’s ceiling and feels the warmth of his love’s hand on his face. Shri can feel the cool morning breeze with the warmth of the rising sun on Arlo’s cheek. They probably know, just like I do, that our freedom is precarious and everything still might fall apart. It could, right? In real life, things don’t end so happily, right? But, at the moment, we are just moving forward, swinging our white cane right, then left, dodging obstacles, taking one more step, finding our way.

You sniff the air of the mountains that Cyril says are S-U-B-L-I-M-E.
There are so many ways you could sign the sublime. One day you will realize even the English words fail to fully contain that which truly fills your body and mind with awe. A complete understanding of the sublime will always be just beyond your grasp, but still you will reach for it.
But today, the word that fascinates you is much simpler. That word is home.