A stranger in a not-so-strange land

I'm a stranger in a not-so-strange land.
The streets, the views, the panorama - it is all familiar, as if it was all a carbon-copy of "home sweet home."  And yet, the foreign eyes with which I view every curb, every boulevard, every blade of summer pasture have me pondering without discontent.  I am a visitor, an outsider, and yet I have a strange sensation of belonging.
Have I come away from far, or am I just far away from where I came?
The clock strikes back trice more the hour, and the delayed presence of my routine is played twice again - truly, there is something magical to this feeling of my pacific time frame.
The lights are a sparkling reminder of my humble beginnings, an the street noises of a busy night life remind me that I am not yet dreaming.
But I remain a stranger in a not-so-strange land, and sleep has found a new hit zone to provoke my dilemma with silence.  And I am contented enough to disregard this struggle.  And I am oblivious to acknowledging that I am still awake in a dream not once forgotten.  Serenity now sits by my side, accompanying my mesmerized pleasure to measure the distance between my narrative and the surface of the ocean from where I was born.
Where today's venture had me re-acquainted with the inner child, tomorrow's sunlight shall bring forth an adventure unknown.
After all, I am no more a stranger than this stranger land.