There is something very comforting about that familiar scent or those familiar bushes and brick path.

As I entered the yard through the old white picked fence gate I saw the front of the house just as it has always been. The walkway to the front door was blooming with flowers on both sides just as is usually the case if the woman with the green thumb has any say... and she always does. Always cute little annuals to greet visitors; although not many people use that walk way- it must just be for show.

Then I almost walked right into a branch on the great big bushes, now overpowering the back garage wall. They've grown since I've been here.

I continue to walk along the paved path ridden with crack and bumps from numerous New England winters. I don't have to watch my step anymore- I basically know it by heart.

The steps up to the red wooden porch have multiplied and become less steep, due to the aging of the house's residents, detectable only visually through the accumulation of a few wrinkles, and two railings have been added.

After opening the kitchen door the scent of the house, of time, of many memories washes over me.
The decor hasn't changed... probably since Reagan's presidency... but it doesn't seem to be outdated.

And then the beautiful figure in the purple bathrobe enters the scene and I smile.


This will always be a place that I call home.
:)
and it is certainly nice to have.