To have a home is to have a place where you keep part of who you are. Home doesn't house your clothes or dishes; home shelters heart and mind. Memories make up the heart and mind, and when memories are made, home is scattered around to a variety of vacation retreats. Fall is like a celebration of fresh, living memories -- trees performing their color that's been there all spring and summer. Autumn skies are more ocean-like than ever, rolling birds to the South and cool breezes into almost-closed windows.
The picture on this page is part of my home -- a retreat for my heart where eighteen years of my life looked out my back window during the fall at a mountain resembling a new box of crayons. Now, I'm here in Charlotte, and my life is homely -- busy while ordinary, lovely in the most unprepossessing kind of way. My home is with my heart, the man with whom I wish to shield every memory. Quiet parts of our lives are sometimes the loudest and audacious, spent in the mind reflecting and reviewing, viewing the colors of remembering fall.
The picture on this page is part of my home -- a retreat for my heart where eighteen years of my life looked out my back window during the fall at a mountain resembling a new box of crayons. Now, I'm here in Charlotte, and my life is homely -- busy while ordinary, lovely in the most unprepossessing kind of way. My home is with my heart, the man with whom I wish to shield every memory. Quiet parts of our lives are sometimes the loudest and audacious, spent in the mind reflecting and reviewing, viewing the colors of remembering fall.