What does it mean to be home?
What are the feathers of the warm nest that have weathered time; though changed, have remained faithfully the same?
The smell of chocolate chips cookies that rushes out to greet me, melting in my heart and filling me with comfort.
Those mile long smiles that extend to eternity, holding me high and swinging me to backyard memories- where laughter was breathing happiness.
Being home, leaning against the kitchen counter, where listening and talking all at once, is as common as running outside barefoot.
The smell of home, the familiar structure, the twist of the driftwood and the nest that calls me; COREY!
photo: Birdhouse in the garden on my childhood. My cousin Daniel Ray made it over 40 years ago for my Mother.
Leave a Reply