A home for where my heart would be

Each year, around the second week of October, or so, I begin to wax poetic on my dreams of sitting on a front porch, bundled up with book in hand.  Perhaps a small lamp perfectly placed on the table beside me.  The bugs are mostly gone this time of year and the soft glow would fill the painted porch woodwork well.  I imagine the lovely smells of nieghborhood fireplaces and the sounds of leaves crunching as kids walked by.  I imagine tall maples overhead, clear skies and the sent of good two hour dinner wafting from the oven.

A home © Britt Conley

I shall continue to wax.. wonder and imagine… this will go on ’til Spring.

Britt : )

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