at home
I visited my parents for a couple of days recently. They have a lovely home and a beautiful garden, thanks to the hard work of both my parents.
My mother had a small arrangement in a little vase by the kitchen window, which looked amazing in the sunlight.
The weather is completely bipolar at the moment – one minute happy, glorious sunshine, and the next moment despairing grey skies and hailstones! All aided by gusting wind.
But, whenever we had sun I tired to take advantage and snap some images. The close up of that flower display was magical when the light hit it right.
When I had a small snack that afternoon my Mom placed the vase of flowers beside my food. There are times when such a small touch of beauty and thoughtfulness breaks your heart with love.
And in the garden there were very tall bluebells – over two feet tall in some cases. It was a lovely sight for me, as I’m bluebell mad and the season is pretty much at its peak now.
Scattering among the violent bluebells were some pink ones, which looked gorgeous whenever we had a spell of sunshine.
It’s funny how ‘home’ can still mean ‘where my parents live’, despite having left the house many, many years ago.

One Comment
K. A. Laity
I can’t say my parents house is home to me; my older brother still lives next door to he house I grew up in. Maybe our cabin would feel like home — but my brother has made so many renovations, it may not even be recognisable. Can’t complain — I have two homes, well three really. No shortage of welcomes: may I always be so fortunate.