WHEN I FEEL AT HOME

I feel at home when I am on my cabin path, you might not, though, you might feel at home doing math. When I was on that path as a little boy, I was always full of joy. I feel at home I am in my cabin when we are sitting by the fire just blabbing. I feel at home when I jump into our cabin’s lake, and when I help my mom bake her delicious cake. I feel at home when I her the sizzling of bacon on the frying pan, but believe me, there is nothing better than a juicy ham. I feel at home, when I touch the bark of our backyard tree, it always makes me feel free. I feel at home when I smell the aroma of muffins baking, that my mother is making. To me, home is a place that I feel safe, when I am in a secluded space. I feel at home when I feel the slimy, cool feeling of a fish that I caught with my dad, but the breath of a fish smells bad! And when I am mad, I go into my room, and I feel glad. To me, home smells like the bark of a pine tree that I am climbing, or one of the chocolate chip cookies, that of which I am spying. But most of all, I feel at home on the soccer field, when I score a goal that I backheeled. I feel at home when I see our front yard, and when I see my dog on guard. And that is when I feel at home.