A blue-grey house perched on the hill, filled with the trinkets that make up a life. Bed, table, kitchen, family, dog, couch. An attic full of memories and seasonal decorations brought out every year to adorn the gutters, eves, porch, and windows. covering the door with signs, changing the meaning and colors of Welcome. But underneath lies the house, blue-grey, perched on the hill, as solid as ever. Waiting for you to come home.
Pine needles spring beneath my feet, making the ground feel soft and my stride effortless as I walk under the tall pines. Birds sing soft melodies and the air is fresh from recent rain. The open air is cool under a blue sky as a soft breeze kisses my cheek, welcoming me back to where I belong.
Home is the warm smile on your mother’s face when you surprise her on her birthday. The solid feel of her arms around you as she pulls you close, long blonde hair wafting hints of coconut oil into your face. The comfort of being held, squeezed within an inch of your life by those you love.
Hard asphalt, baked black in the sun and glistening with the residue of oil left from the thousands of cars that have been there before you. Chain-link fences and gates with guards that bar entry to anyone but you – for this is your domain. You know all the shortcuts, the secret exits and entrances. The escape routes leading you to and from home.
Indescribable acknowledgement. Proof that you know it’s there. A feeling bone-deep yet airy with acceptance. There’s nothing left to prove, no effort needs to be made. It doesn’t matter what you see when you look out the window because right now, in this moment, here, you are home.