The scent of the pages of fifty-year-old books

up in the cold

up,

Your breaths twirling up,

 

Crackling fireplaces and collapsing logs

The scrunching snow underneath your steps

Mulled wine and its sweet heat on your tongue

Rabbit footprints and paths guarded by evergreens

The hissing noise of water thrown on the stove

 

The dripping sound of droplets coming down

from gutters

The shy hues of birches waking up

from slumber

 

The sound of lawn mowers in the early heat

The hungry scent of the first barbeque

Exhilarated shrieks of children let loose on the yards

 

Wheat crops brushing against your bare leg

Hands of clocks ticking while sunsets linger

Gentle fingers picking wild strawberries on the

outskirts of meadows

Pebbles stinging, wandering barefoot

Splashes of cool water enveloping your body

 

The weight of ripe apples falling,

thump,

thump

The rustle of warm colors fallen on the ground

Tickling blankets, the taste of warm, sweet tea and honey

 

And everyday, with a whoosh, golden adventure lines cut up the blueness above

and then slowly evaporate

Because when it comes down to it, it’s always good to be back home