An essential spot, here in this place where I know all its faults. Latte colored walls and unopened mail gives rest and contemplative time for things otherwise. The homecoming is all the more sweet because I pull away.
There are secrets. Daffodil bulbs jump the gun with a few warm days in February and get pummeled by spring downpours each year. They were planted just left of center so from my favorite chair I could watch them find the strength to survive. Under bed covers on chilly November days, the tree flames crimson before it scatters across the lawn. Westminster chimes echo through the house and it awakens me at two, but wondrously not at three or four.
Kitchen chair legs are just the right diameter to grip with my toes as I lean into a game of cribbage or wrestle with a passage of text. In the background, the rhythmic whirr of the dog's breathing inventories the comfort of being somewhere that knows me best.
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