WHAT HOME IS TO ME

Home. The taste of chocolate cereal that we only have once-in-a-while. The sound of the violin that I love to play so much. The smell of Dad’s coffee, which tastes bitter but smells good. The sight of my dog, Tilda, greeting me at the door (she’s so cute). I feel safe and loved. Home. The taste of the fresh air in the field behind our house. The sound of kids laughing at the park down the path. The smell of the green grass, wet beneath my feet. The sight of my friendly neighbours, waving at me as we leave for a walk. I feel happy and warm. Home. The taste of the biting air as I let the dog out in the morning. The sound of the compost truck screeching to a stop by our house at 7 a.m.. The stinky smell of gasoline from the cars passing by when we go out on a walk. The sight of the bright city lights on the skyline in the distance. I feel confident and grateful. Home. The taste of the delicious food we get to eat late at night after a Baha’i feast. The sound of people reciting prayers at evening devotionals. The smell of the food that people bring to the potlucks we used to go to. The sight of the crafts that my sister makes in children’s class. I feel proud to be Baha'i.