I grew up in a kind of forgotten-looking place. A peaceful, private home set back into the woods. From the road the overgrown yard gave our home a touch of melancholy that hid the magic from the uninitiated. On the inside my home was a place filled with music, the glow of candlelight, wine, food, friends and laughter. A place where everyone felt welcome, appreciated, loved and accepted. It was perfect in its imperfection.
While we were building my “dream” house I came to realize that it’s not square footage or upgrades that make a home, it’s our memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment