Sometimes I can hear them calling to me. Sometimes I can see them looking down at me. Gathered around as if inspecting some newborn infant clan member. The call to me. ”When will you come home?” ”We have been waiting so long.” Their bodies are impossibly long like infinite trousers and dresses. Their faces are distant somewhere behind ethereal fog like the hidden cliff face of a mountaintop. They stand steady and looming above me like a mighty forest of Redwood trees. They speak to each other. ”Why is he so stubborn?” ”Doesn’t he know we’re his ‘real’ family?” “When will he wake up?” I know I must find them. I know I must go home.