121. My Door Is Always Open (121)

This poem unfolds as a quiet invocation, a rite of arrival where I do not possess the land but I may be possessed by it. The tone is reverent and unassuming, casting the house, the forest, and the garden as sentient witnesses rather than passive scenery. Each space responds to presence: the house blinks awake, the forest waits without beckoning and the garden murmurs forgiveness. Domestic comforts, sauna breath, heated pools, cinema screens, are reimagined as ritual vessels, holding memory and prophecy alike. My breath becomes a signature, not of ownership but of vow and the final line...“You are the key to this land”, transforms the act of arrival into an ethic of stewardship. This is not a poem of conquest, but of return, where the land itself recognises the one who listens.

Well!, This is a self analysis of the writing, trying to be detached, how do you see it?