As I sit quietly in the house my grandparents built in the 1960's, I can hear the sound of the clock and nothing else...well, except for the sound of my fingers typing this. My parents now live in this house, the house my dad grew up in. I remember coming to eat Saturday lunch here at grand mom's house. She would have a huge lunch spread full of the usuals: ham, cornbread, black eyed peas, squash casserole and a huge pitcher of sweet tea. We had cookies for dessert, of course, because as kids that was our favorite dessert. I didn't like nuts in my chocolate chip cookies so being the youngest of nine grandchildren and having the tendency to be a tad bit um...shall we say spoiled?... I received my very own nut free batch, naturally. ;) I remember the way this house smelled when she was baking and even when she wasn't baking the smell of warm sugar still lingered in the air.
It's like snuggling up by the fire with a good book, hot chocolate and your favorite blanket on a cold winter's day. It just feels good. It just feels... right. Like it has always been and will always be.
This is why I love coming home.