It's wicked to mock the afflicted

I don't have a home anymore. I mean a home like Dali's Figueras or Woody Allen's New York. There is no place on this earth whose landscapes begs me to return. There is no patch of earth that I can point to and say this was my father's and his father's before him.

Home for me exists wherever my wife and I happen to be. However, there was an exception. There is a small town in Scotland, now incorporated by the larger city of Edinburgh. The place is Leith. It was a place I longed for and I was happy to have a chance to return recently. I was all smiles and pleasure to see the familiar places of that town, but it came with a sad recognition. I realized that I pined not only for a place but that place in time. Although I returned, I could not revisit the moments I had occupied there. It saddens me that I can no longer claim -- however tenuous that claim was to start with -- that a port town on the East coast of Scotland was home.