Thursday, July 14, 2011


ome is the house
whose smell you memorize-
whose familiar sweetness
seeps into the woodwork
and saturates the walls
with fragrant memories.

Home is the smell of
Christmas cookies
and maple bacon...
of sauerkraut and cinnamon toast...
of pungent garlic-
or lilacs-
or lemon fresh Lysol.

Home is the house
where your key fits in the lock
like a perfectly tuned instrument...
where the Welcome mat hugs your feet...
a place where the door opens
and the lights shine -
and the kitchen table is
an old friend.

Home is the house
where there are musical sounds-
like the hum of the fridge.
the gurgle of the coffee pot-
the incessant drip of the bathtub faucet.

Home is the sound of peaceful snoring,
uninhibited laughter,
shared sorrows,
and giant hopes.

Home is the place
where the comfiest chair
is molded to your shape,
the bed yields to your weariness,
and the fridge abounds with goodness.

Home is the place
where your roots run as deep
as the oak tree by the drive,
where you bloom like a flower,
soar like a bird,
fit like a glove...

Home is the place
you are drawn to...
that whispers to you
at the end of a long journey.
It's the place that speaks
of sanity
and solace
and sincerity.
It knows your language-
and it understands your silence.

Home is the house
that approves of bare feet,
elbows on the dinner table,
cobwebs in the corner,
and pizza crumbs on the sheets.

Home accepts imperfections,
and indiscretions.
It will catch you when you fall,
cushion you when you stumble,
encourage you
when you're disheartened.

Home is the place
of family videos,
scrapbooks on the coffee table,
and photos on the walls.

It is volleyball on the lawn...
Scrabble on the floor...
cartoons blaring so loudly
that the windows shake.

Home is the place
where your pets greet you
with a slobbery kiss,
your laundry smells like a mountain spring,
and the coffee is as smooth
as melted chocolate.

Home is the place
that you never outgrow...
that never forsakes you...
that always embraces you.

Home is where there's
a pile of shoes by the door,
lunch meat in the crisper,
and Popsicles in the freezer.

It's a place of impromptu omelets,
midnight snacks,
crooked chocolate cakes,
and chicken and dumplings.

Home is the place
where you're not afraid to cry-
not too timid to laugh,
and never too pretentious to pray.

Home is your skin-
it's your blanket...
your cave of contentment.
It's your umbrella,
your life saver...
your utopia...
your paradise...
It's your water wings-
your oxygen...
your net
and your perfection.

Home is a bowl of funny,
a plate of passion,
a pitcher of pride
and a cup of grace.

It's a spoonful of laziness,
a pinch of boredom,
a sprinkle of habit
and a platter of peace.

Home is the diary
where you write your life...
where every single day
is a secret treasure,
an adventure,
a humble story-
and a bountiful bouquet of love.

Home is the place
you run to at the end of a long day,
the place you dream of when you're awake
and escape to when you are burdened.

It's your compass...
your lighthouse...
your base...
your very heart and soul.

It's the place
where you kick off your shoes,
loosen your tie,
and throw aside your troubles.

It's where you stop.

Slow down.



(Originally posted April 8, 2010)


  1. Wow..that was amazing and covered everything that home is, can be or should be. The home of everyone's dreams.

  2. I loved this one,especially. Though "home" for me is in my heart - it never existed quite like that.


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