home, at last

a gray morning

drenched

with the joy

of waking up

to a new day

at home.

the smell of fresh paint

says hello

and good morning!

bare feet

waking up

to cold floors

guide me

towards the kettle

(always on,

we're home, you see)

eyes not yet ready

to take in

the light.

wood. stone. leather. wool.

the elements breathe in

the calm.

i offer my self space.

a slow morning.

later,

i will slurp miso soup

from a clay bowl

and tackle the last

of the boxes:

my studio.

(i always save the best

for last)

tell me,

dear soul,

what is home

to you?