Mist obscured mountains.  Shades of gray.  Pinpoints of treetops, water slate, sky slate.  This is home. A ferry cuts through the water, bright lights in the darkening sky. Trollers home from a long day at sea, headed for the marina, the dark shore across the narrows.  Lights from the docks beckon.

It is time now to snuggle into the armchair, pull a blanket around me and read dull afternoons away.  Warm lights and steaming cups of tea, a novel.  Amber strands twinkle around the room, a candle burns, the cat purrs, soup is on the stove.  It is that time of year dig in, make your home.

From another room, the sound of a sporting event, Scott working on a project, or maybe napping, the dog’s nails clicking on the floor.  It is so simple.  And easy.  And perfect.  I am content. I am home.


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