Home is Where My Heart Is

I’ve got a curled-up cat beside me, another making racket in the bedroom, and a silly puppy-dog bounding across the strip of yard I see out of the window to my right. My home is quiet, not even the fans are whirling away on this uncharacteristically cool afternoon. Some cider-smelling oil in a glowing burner is sending whirls of October into the air. My bed is made, my laundry folded, my dishes washed, my floors swept. Pork chops are thawed and ready to be slathered with my husband’s special request of honey and mustard, not honey-mustard. I’ve worked all day in peace, talking little, thinking much. Oh, what a marvelous place my home is.

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