Home is where roses bloom

After a whirlwind of trips, walking up to the front door, flanked by dozens of roses is a welcome like no other.

Waking to the sounds of birds in the garden, the beep of the garbage truck, the whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, the churning of clothes in the washing machine, may be mundane to some, but music to my ears.

I am home.

Briefly.

But home … and, where I am rested and happy.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

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