Genus Loci.

Some places own you.
A charge of rare energy seizes your soul.
Your mind hears, a familiar distant call.
Synchronistic déjà vu.
You were here before and you never went away.
Being somewhere else, was just a game you’d play.

Some places embrace you.
The prodigal child is hugged and squeezed and kissed.
You are home and it’s OK. But Oh! How you were missed.
Time was a bird and it flew.
Your absence was an aberration of insignificant duration.
A dull beat on a drum of lead, buried deep, beyond all exhumation.

Some places become you.
Their resonance mutates genetic coding at your core.
They walk with you, talk with you, weep with you from every pore.
The one you were is two.
Your dreams and thoughts are forever and always, something that you share.
The life that was all yours is lost, for the life of the place, is also there.

Some places eat with you.
They digest deluges of dialogue and dictionaries of definition.
They gorge with you, on gobbets of gargantuan erudition.
Your senses are their pot of stew.
Ingredients of information stir into imagination.
Casseroled considerations, cook into co-operative… joint… considerations.

Some places open their souls to you.
You know them from when nothing, snapped into dust, and you know their
tortured temporal history.
You know that their condition is a confusion, erroneously labelled, mystery.
Such places think and feel, it is true!
And whatever you think and feel, wherever you are, whatever you do…
Some places own and embrace you. Some places eat with you and become you…
Some places… are you.