Home

Home is not just the architect building, or the artificial machines. Home could be a house, but the joy I am filled with is my home that I love. Home can be sad, home could be mad. No matter the amount of your siblings' anger from stealing their possessions. You'll get a laugh, You'll make a day, the joy of saying "at last, Home time" because you know you are welcome. The smell of fresh blueberry pancakes and a glass of orange juice or perhaps a hot chocolate on a starry night the warmth will comfort you on the coldest nights. Home is the place where I have a voice, the place I can talk about the struggles. Home can be hard, but when you speak your voice matters. We may have struggles, we may make mistakes, but when we pass the challenge it is one of the many joys of life. My dogs could bite or fight, but I love them; They are home. My sisters could yell or smell, but I love them; They are home. My parents could be mean or teach, but I love them; They are home. No matter the distance from Calgary to Fernie or my ski races, I'll always remember Home.