There is something about home, don’t you think?

It is a familiar feeling. The familiar feeling of the creaking iron gate, the crunch of dry leaves and the lopsided garden chair sitting on the perfect spot on the lawn, just right to view the evening sunset. The climbing flowers have grown from since you saw them last. Now they cascade down your room’s bay window, delicately swaying with each breeze.

The door opens to a feeling of warmth. There is a pot of tea brewing on the stove and grandma stands leaning on the kitchen counter, stirring it. The cat sits on his cushion grooming himself, completely oblivious to your presence. The dog comes running to lick your face and welcome you. You ruffle his fur. The television is on and you hear muffled voices from the show. You know which show it is. Grandpa seems engrossed in it. The vase on the coffee table keeps falling off and grandma keeps putting it back up. You smile to yourself.

Your room is the same. The bookshelf stands heavy with books. The second shelf groans with the weight but doesn’t give way. You turn on the lamp and the room is flooded with a soft warm light. The familiar fragrance of incense floats in the air.

Laying down on your bed and letting your head sink into the pillow, you close your eyes and listen to the steady whirring of the fan.

You’re home.

This post is part of BlogchatterA2Z