There is no place like home. Absolutely, not a one. Home is where you are known. Home is where you are cherished. Home is where people know your favorite things. Home has homemade bread and granola, and fresh flowers on every surface.
And I’m home.
And I’m reveling in it.
Loving every minute of it.
And my heart feels full.
So full it could explode.
This morning, I woke up early, in spite of the exhaustion from all the travel yesterday. Because I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. I was too excited to go downstairs, pet my dogs, eat mom’s homemade granola and sweet strawberries from her garden for breakfast, and sip coffee as the scent of Kentucky poured in the open back door. Mmmm, yes. The scent of Kentucky. The scent of home. It’s so distinct, and so strong after coming back from another place. Kentucky smells like green and honeysuckle and earth, and fresh.
My sweet mother filled the house with flowers, and my favorite foods. The things she knew we loved and missed the most. My old bedroom was empty and clean, ready for us.
Home is a good place to be.
Here are a few of the many arrangements of fresh flowers scattered around the house.