Home

When I think of home, I think of the taste of my mom's questionable dill pickle soup. I smell the pine trees and my dog’s breath. I hear the sound of pine needles brushing together in the cold wind and sticks crunching as I step on them, outside exploring my backyard. It's so nice when I see my table full of people on special occasions. I feel the touch of a family member’s hug. Home is not a place you stay, it’s the people you stay with.