1. The waves are thick with seaweed, soft and baubled with thread-like strands. The waves are green and glassy, tipped with bubbles of smooth white foam. The waves are roaring against the shore, powerful, pulling in and pulling back. The waves call to me, and I swim through them. The seaweed coats my arms, sticks in my hair, slips through my fingers. The salt stings my eyes, but I still see. This is my home. I am home.

2. The field is wide and empty, laden with stalks of wheat for harvest. The field is gold and prickly, like the hair covering the back of some gentle beast. The field is fertile and full, bending gently against the wind. The field calls to me, and I wander through it as it brushes my hips. The kernels cover the dirt between each stem. Bits of the stems cling to my clothes as I walk past. This is my home. I am home.

3. It is blood. It is water. It is the cries at my birth and the cries at my death and the cries at the births of my children. It is a fierce thing that fights. It is a wild thing, untamable, and full of passion. It is looking Death in his empty eyes and telling him you fear him not.

4. It is soil. It is air. It is the laughter at my wedding feast and the laughter at my funeral and the laughter at the christenings of my children. It is a gentle thing that makes peace. It is a calm thing, sensible, and full of joy. It is taking Life by his warm hands and telling him you fear him not either.