If I Had a Space That Felt Like Home

If I had a space that felt like home, there would be a mess throughout the house that says, “someone lives here”.  The space would also have a warm and cozy feeling no matter what time of the day or year.  My home would have soup on the stove simmering all day long teasing us until supper.

If I had a space that felt like home there would be laughter, music and barking dogs.  There would be paint splattered on the floor beneath an easel and little scraps of material scattered under an old sewing machine.  Strings in random colors tossed about and wilted flowers in a dried out crusty vase.

If I had a space that felt like home there would be an eleven-year-old boy between me and a fifty-eight-year-old man watching an old western on the television.  This house would have the familiar energy of a loved so much daughter who has ventured into the world to claim her place.

If I had a space that felt like home the house would be packed with great friends over a warm meal.  Wine glasses would clang as we toast one another.  Forks that scrape the last of the frosting from a plate or perhaps it is apple pie gravy with specks of flakey crust.

If I had a space that felt like home I would sit on a front porch and listen to the hot summer breeze.  I would sip ice cold tea and watch chickens run through out the barn yard.  There would be a barn cat curled up between a large pot of marigolds and geraniums. 

If I had a space that felt like home, oh wait, I already have that space and I call it my home.