Directions
Turn on the dirt road at the bottom
of the hill, then go past the big
curve. Slow on the wash-board,
drive between the ruts, two tires
on the gravel shoulder, the truck
shimmies and rattles, light in back.
Just past the place with all the dogs,
on the left, you’ll see the pasture
first, the house back from the road.
There’s a blue mailbox, the name
sun-bleached and hard to read. It’s
the place at the end of the day.
…
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro
HOME!!!!
Yay!!
I’ve always been a homebody in the sense that I loved where I lived for the comfort and safety it provided. But I didn’t know what it meant to finally “be home” until we moved to where we have been for the past 16 years. Rising with the sun to greet and feed, and watching the day fade behind the mountains as final chores are done before dark……I’m home, and so very grateful.
I understand, I found my first home at 45. Thanks for commenting, Laurie.
Your poem touches my heart.
Thanks, Callie. Home…
Nice, sweet and complete.
Thanks, Kathe. I was hoping to say more with less.
Ahhhh….home…. where your heart breathes a sigh of relief…
Sweetest place, thanks Annette.
This is a marvelous post 😀
Thanks, Cee. #hsh
Seems we all recognize this place. I sure do. (only disadvantage is getting the horse trailer in and out). I, too, found my true home around age 45, I knew when I walked in the door that first morning after the movers left. Home.
Home at last. Thanks Laura.