Spinning in circles, barefoot, across chestnut hardwood floors. The scent in the air is strong and sharp. Acoustic guitar music is resonating from the high quality speakers. My father’s impeccable ears for music allowed me to live in a world of ranging notes and melodies, a symphony of chords to provide company for my childhood. My parents were always lounging, legs crossed, heads tossed back, laughs rolling off their tongues, on nights. Red wine filled halfway in their glasses, while my sister and I had chocolate milk.
The neighbors were always close, apart from distance. Decadent chocolate chip cookies, piping hot soup, homemade bread and a collection of food always in the arms of neighbors, smiling and giving.
Home may have been the old walls that contained old memories, or the white porch where humid, Summer nights were spent. But in reality, along with that, my mother, my father, my sister, my neighbors, their arms, support, affection, I made a home within their love.
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