House or Home?

What is home?

A smiling face at the door – Welcome!

Bricks and mortar

Paint on the wall not to your taste

(Who lived in this house before me?)

But a view from the window of

Hills and mountains

Bridge and water

Cements the feeling that this house is mine.

Home is where I’m happy

Home means safety, sanctuary

Slipping into well-worn slippers

Books in every corner

Places to hide in.

Home means treasures gathered over decades

Speaking only to me

Tight-held memories

Attached to photographs

Trunks full of souvenirs

Junk they’ll call it when I go.

Home means cobwebs

And spiders that don’t pay rent

In the darkness of the attic

Where the moon creeps in at night.

Home for me is sunrise

A new day, a shaken tablecloth

A visitor in for tea

Kettle, teapot, scones.

Written by Katie, Shirley, Anne and Liz of the Brora Creative Writing Group.