"For us, our house is not insentient matter—it has a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it is of us, and we are in its confidence, and live in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never come home from an absence that its face does not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we can not enter it unmoved."
—Mark Twain, 1896
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Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Journal entry


I love this time of morning.
All the shadows are just beginning to disperse,
and the quiet is thick with anticipation of dawn‘s arrival.

Clinging frost;
the fragrance of wood-smoke smoldering in the autumn chill; 
and a new day emerges.
~

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