What makes a home?
The hardest place to leave…
The only place that beckons at the end of any kind of day…
Is it the worn out couch?
The familiar messes, dents, scrapes, smudges?
The enthusiastic bounding dog…and the pangs for her predecessor?
The neighbors who wave as you pull into the drive…and the thoughts of the ones who have moved on?
The once seedling that now shades the yard?
The comfortable bed?
The symphony of familiar smells and sounds?
The memories of exactly what happened here…and here…and here?
The complete lack of pretense or performance?
The art-filled walls and refrigerator?
The shelves full of books, photographs, trinkets?
The kindred souls that wordlessly anticipate, take comfort in the presence of you on that worn out couch?