The Feeling of Family

The meaning of home to me is walking through the door and seeing a soft black rug beneath my feet. I see the roses that are in the vase as I walk by the counter. I see the plants growing so big and beautiful. The fresh smell of buttered toast fills the kitchen with joy and the feeling of the cold chair feels good on my skin. It sits nicely against the gray wall that is filled with good memories. The screen door lets in the chirping song of birds that are outside. I hear laughter coming from my home. The leaves glide against the bark on the tree and it makes a rustling noise. The oven with the light is making meals that we eat with joy and gratitude. The vrooming of the freeway and the sound of construction makes it all the way to my ears. The sound of cars going vroom vroom for eight hours as we go to Saskatchewan and see loved ones. The fresh bread was baked in the oven with a crisp crust. The sound of the meowing from the cats makes my Grampa and I come up with funny jokes that we tell to my sister. We drove back to Calgary. It was sad but exciting that we got to sleep in our own rooms. The happy thought about what I am going to dream about next, an island? or a candyland with too much sugar? The stories in my room are filled with wonderful writing and so many good and interesting stories. I wish I could have it every second. The laid out sheets cover the bed and the bed gets nice and comfy. The soft, sweet voice of my family tells me that I am safe, cared for, and loved.