The only four homes I have ever known are the ones farthest away, they belong in separate places. Four homes that no one can ever take from me. These are Places that I might live in but I might not, sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. They are everywhere spread across the country and maybe in another. they just feel natural to me when I’m there.
I’m starting with the one that is not that special, the one everyone knows about. It is literally what you would call a home where you live, but is only one of four for me. It lives on a loud noisy road were the doorman’s tricks to surprise you never stop, But this is only the holder of my home it supports it. My real home is on the eighth floor. It lives in a average New York apartment, Not to big but not that small either. My home is not the apartment but a room with Harry Potter stickers and a bed in lime green covers. It’s teal blue walls surround you when you sleep, the bed with piles upon piles of pillows and stuffed animals. Everything in this room is my home.
We have three more places to visit, so let’s hop in a car and drive to my next home out in Connecticut where all the flowers bloom late. Let’s drive to a big twelve acre property with a charming white house and a big red barn. There are cherry blossom trees in the back yard, a fort in the middle of the woods that me and my friend made. We have a rock that looks like the one from the lion king and we have a graveyard for all my dead beloved pets. This whole place is my home. The poorly painted tree house took a week to build in the hot summer with only me and my brother. We have camp fires there and I met someone who lives three houses down and is now my best friend. The interior is just as great; and my bedroom there is one of the biggest rooms in the house. We have a bathtub with jets, and once me and Clarissa were wearing bathing suits, and we took a huge bubble bath were most of the bubbles got on the floor. We swallowed quite a bit of bubbles. It felt like someone had shoved some very bubbly drinks down the back of our throats. We had our first christmas there this year so it’s fairly new but it’s still very much my home. With all the nature and wildlife swarming in on me like a buzz of bees how could it not be my Home?
Don’t forget I still have two more, so let’s go down back towards New York state. But not into the city; stop short and turn into Larchmont and cross the red bridge that is actually white. Go along to Fourteen Prior Lane. He is a big yellow house sitting on a small hill that slopes down behind him. He is old and four flights tall, including his cavernous basement with a different room behind every twist and turn. His eleven bedrooms on the floors used to home my mother and her seven sisters and brothers. Not to mention all the animals the lived in my old friend, all the raccoons, cats, dogs, canada geese, swans, and other crazy things all gathered into my big yellow friend. He lived next to the big lake the one that the red/white bridge went over and we often went fishing in there, with the best dog ever. Mosus; he was a yellow labrador, I have many memories of him. Once me and my Dad were fishing, and big old Mossie wanted to come with us. He was walking along the cement wall that was the end of the property and was on the water. It was almost low tide so there was a good ten feet between the wall and the water. But as my and my Dad rode away in our little fishing boat, we heard the sound of claws scraping gravel. We saw his body soaring across the water, he landed in the boat, but almost on top of my dad. I started to scream and my dad exclaimed “You crazy dog you nearly killed me!!!” I have so many memories of him when lived in my in my big old friend. So many memories happened in this big old house that make him my most homey home and that’s why I love it so much. But some other people live in him now, some small dutch family that will make him a different home, but he will always be one of my homes and will always be part of me.
The last home is not really a home but in a way it is. My brothers are there and I go every summer. Nova Scotia is my last home. She is a very pretty part of Canada and inside of her is the mini and more real home. The small town of wolfville is the actual home put it’s part of Nova Scotia and it’s so pretty that I’ll let is slip. It has everything from a little market with budgies on show to a red sand beach with hundred feet cliffs. This is my biggest home of all.
Well you have heard of them all now, they are by homes, my happiness. They are I am me when i’m home. All of them wrap around me keeping me warm and safe from cold. Cold is fine too, sometimes they are cold when I want them to be.
