Make Me A Home

I have a dream of a new home. A beautiful home. Surrounded in nature, no neighbors nearby. A home near a lake or a river. It is light and bright and spacious. It is full of beautiful details, aged wood and stone, textured white plaster, tile and copper details, brushed metal hardware and large picture windows.

There is a natural stone pool (heated), where I can swim, everyday (if we’re not familiar, I’m part fish, just ask my loved ones). The kitchen is wide and opens to the house, and the windows overlook the landscaped gardens. When I open them up I can smell the honeysuckle and meyer lemon blossoms, and the cottonwood fuzzies float by on a breeze.

I am there, in this house, pouring my coffee, and I can hear the click of my cup on the countertop, I can feel the weave of my robe on my skin, I can see the light pouring over the sill. Then Kenny comes in, with the dogs on his heel, the tap of their little toenails close behind him. He kisses me lightly and says good morning, and pours his coffee too. Then I sit at the table while he makes breakfast, whistling merrily as he does. A buckeye in wholegrain toast this morning, perhaps with avocado, or sunflower sprouts.

We sit and eat together, and talk about our next adventure. We’re off to someplace wonderful, just next week. All the arrangements have been made, and we can’t wait. We make jokes about the dogs, and put…