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.