"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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Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Journal Entry

This is the best time of day.


When the sun can’t make up her mind,
to stay or go;
when the wind draws back to whence he came;
and the stillness settles.

When calmness gives radiance a polite curtsy.
When an uncomplaining night awaits. 

I sit here in the peace of this ending day,
and listen to the far away sounds of the town that lives around me,
and know that I am home.
~

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