I read within a poet's book
A word that starred the page:
'Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage! '
Yes, that is true; and something more
You'll find, where'er you roam,
That marble floors and gilded walls
Can never make a home.
But every house where Love abides,
And Friendship is a guest,
Is surely home, and home-sweet-home:
For there the heart can rest.Henry Van Dyke, "A Home Song"
It was that time of day just before dusk settles, as the lightening bugs were putting on their most spectacular show. And the thought revisiting swept over every part of my consciousness. It was another time frame, another place, a different family dynamics, but nevertheless, cherith revisiting. I was in a new home with those fond thoughts once again doing something significant.
We moved. Not to a farm this time, but to a lovely stately 1930 built home in a rural setting. I call it "my city house in the country" with its large rooms adorned with dental molding around the ceilings, beautiful mantles, original doors- some double wide- with brass doorknobs and hardwood floors.
