Home

well, for one, there is a certain solace in familiarity, there is comfort in the curve of a well-loved mattress, with freshly-washed linen sheets and a dip in its owner's shape. there is peace in an old house, bricks aged and worn with the passing seasons as it shelters its hearth,alive, well and impervious to the first of many snows, as autumn melts to winter on the heels of ever-earlier sunsets. the porch whispers stories to any who will listen, you know, with long-gone summers of laughter, and childhood etched into the ground's memory, as it and the wildflowers recall countless chalk drawings, washed away with rainy, and the unfortunately wide range on the next-door-neighbour's sprinkler, with a now-grown-and-gone child's initials carved into the sidewalk, perhaps when the cement had yet to dry. there is rest in the turning of keys and weary sighs, in the couch and its pillows, still slightly off-centre from an early morning they spent cradling the cat, as it sat with the sunrise and lazily watched the first songbirds wake. perhaps, home is found in the creak of a house settling, its old beams humming contently on a warm summer's night, with curtains drawn and windows open, or in the sanctity of waking just before dawn in mid-novembers nighttime chill, knowing just which floorboards make the least amount of noise when walking to the thermostat in the hallway, eyes still bleary from sleep as the basement boiler yawns to life, breathing warmth through the vents as the fog on the bedroom window begins to clear. or, maybe still, home might be found where a person chooses to exist, where the walls of the soul come down in the safety of walls around them, and the comfortable promise of security and warmth in the morning, as sure as the rumble of the fridge in the kitchen as one drifts off to sleep. maybe, home is made, through repetition and memories, the ghosts of visits and foods and the passing of people in and out the front door, greeted by a sleepy choir of windchimes, bought at a neighbour's garage sale however many years ago, now carefully strung up by the flowerpots outside so that any invited in may enjoy their soft performance. home might be grown, nurtured by gloved hands and the upturned soil of the backyard garden as its family eagerly waits for their cherry tomatoes to flower and fruit, watching the bed of lilacs, hyacinths and gardenias sprout and bloom from dutifully watered earth. if home is nurtured, gently planted in just the right soil and sung to in lapses of spare time, then its blooming- signaling strong- happy roots, is found in the delight of the children when they're both gifted hard-earned bouquets as a reward for their efforts, a loving mother (and gardener) patiently explaining the meanings of each flower as she combs through her youngest's hair and gently wipes the dirt from her oldest's cheeks before she, like her daughters to the seeds of their, bouquets now bundled in water-filled vases by each of their nightstands, plants a kiss on both their foreheads, a silent promise to surround them with the same care and love as they gave to their garden, so that they too may grow into those beaming smiles and big dreams, like a flower grows into its petals. maybe home is all of those things, different to different people, as customs change and families grow together and apart, but, as most good things are, maybe home can be found, too. maybe home is found in the opening of a door, a reprieve from the cold as the smell of an oven roast wafts through the entryway and into the outside air, and in the earnestness of a human voice, sung with the cracked sidewalk and its chalk drawings, the keys on the coathanger, the cat and its spot on the couch, the thermostat in the hallway, the creak of the floorboards, the flowers in their garden, the well-loved mattress with the dip in its surface and a simple sentence, spoken as the living room makes space for one more. maybe, belonging is what makes a place and people more than just places and people, as one is ushered in and given a place at the table with that simple sentence from before;"welcome home."