My Home

A light summer breeze alleviates the heat as the sun begins to set in the western sky. On the wind floats the scents of freshly cut grass, moist dirt, garden fruits and vegetables, roses, and other flowers. Crickets begin to chirp, as the song of the birds winds down for the evening. Faintly, the leaves on the trees rustle, their sound accompanied by the snapping of a flag in the breeze. Lights begin to blink on in the wide windows of the old white brick house, the green roof adding a touch of cheerfulness. I sit on the prickly lawn, luscious, well cared for, and green, and I take it all in.
It isn’t for the surpassing physical beauty of this place that it holds a special place in my heart, but for the exquisite joy that I experience in its beautiful surroundings. During most of the year, the yard remains quiet, nearly silent but for the sounds of nature and those produced by the work of a loving man in the garden; however, for approximately a week each summer, the silence is shattered by the endless laughter of children, the constant chatter of adolescents, and the perpetual conversation of adults. To nearly anyone in the world this setting may seem loud and chaotic, but to me, it is when I feel the most tranquil and peaceful in all my life. This is when I am truly home.
Home, to me isn’t a place, or a building, but a certain group of people, and how they make me feel. Home is knowing that you’re with people with who you are completely free to be yourself, your whole self. It’s knowing that the people around you know you as well as you know yourself, perhaps better. It’s knowing that they see everything about you, your strengths, your weaknesses, and love you for every bit of it. It’s knowing that within this little circle there exists a space that is meant for you; no one else in the entire world could fill that space, the one you fit so perfectly in. Home is having the knowledge that even though the people you are with will listen to every word you say, you don’t need to say anything. They already know what you’re thinking. Home is someone who can make you laugh any time, or wipe away the tears that fall down your face. When you lose your identity in this world, and forget who you are, Home is the only place you can rediscover yourself. Home is built of old memories and the anticipation of forming new ones. It’s countless inside jokes, and laughing for no reason. Home is a connection, linking one heart to another.
Of course, just as each house has its own unique qualities, so does each Home. My Home is a grandpa whose hands are old and weathered from years of work in his garden, and a face full of wrinkles, many of them from years of laughter. It’s a loving grandma who has watched her grandchildren grow, being faithfully interested in the happenings of their lives. It’s years of being poked, tickled, and teased by uncles, of being hugged and cared for by aunts. My Home is cousins, and the years of laughter we have shared together, and how we can spend hours talking about anything and everything. It’s knowing that through every difficulty, trial, pain, joy, new experience, and happiness, there will always be someone who cares. My Home is knowing that I always have my best friends to count on, even if they live in different states. My Home is a mother and father who have brought me up to love family.
I may only truly be Home for one week in a year, but there is an old white brick house with a green roof that keeps me connected to my Home continually. It is for that connection that I love that house and yard of elegant beauty. In the typical silence of the yard, I hear echoes of the sweet sounds of summer. When the spring flowers are in bloom, when autumn leaves litter the ground, when freshly fallen snow blankets the earth, I can look on that familiar and beloved site, and experience a small warmth in my heart. A warmth that is slightly reminiscent of my feeling of Home. It is for that small warmth that my heart holds a distinguished spot for the place that many would see as ordinary.

Source:I wrote this for the Reflections contest my senior year and actually went to region level with it. Its written very lovingly about my grandparents house, and got it's beginnings from a creative writing paper about a place I feel connected to.