Home

Home is not a house or a building; it is a place where you feel loved and know that people care about you. My home is more than all of that. My home is warm and full of laughter, hugs, and kisses. When you come to my home, the front half is yellow and the back half is dark blue because we are painting our house. We even turned our carport into a wood shop so my dad can build cool things out of wood. When you enter my house, you are greeted by a mid-sized woodle (my dog, Roxy). She has soft, curly blonde hair, a black nose, and brown eyes. She will probably be spinning in circles and jumping up and down. As you walk up the stairs—which are plywood because we took the carpet off—you will see the kitchen counter, where our grey cat is meowing for her dinner even if it is only nine o’clock in the morning. If you turn left, my bedroom will be the first door you see. There will probably be glowing lights peeking out from under the door because my LED lights hang around the top of my bedroom walls. When you open my bedroom door, you will smell vanilla-lavender air freshener sprayed around the room. The first thing I notice is the bright sun shining through my window. Then I see my bookshelf, or rather, the plants on it. One plant has a fiery pink, pointy stem in the middle with green, pointy leaves on the outside. The other looks like a group of large lily pads connected by a stem in the center. Lastly, as the sun sets outside my window, the moon rises on my ceiling from my projector. As I fall asleep, the thoughts of the day slowly fade away, and I drift off to the moon.