There is a place where I feel love.
It is simple, but special.
The walls are filled with imperfections,
Yet that’s part of what makes it whole.

There is a place where I feel warmth.
It is small and bright,
with light moving through the rooms,
carrying the sun to my soul.

There is a place where I feel safe.
It is calm and steady,
and wraps me in its protection
so I may sleep with a new peace.

There is a place that gives me life.
It fixes all the wrongs,
with the past at its doorstep,
allowing entry only to release.


I moved from my home in North Carolina back to Michigan this past winter, and I’ve mentioned before that my husband and I spent nearly 6 months in an apartment while we searched for a house. I spent some time away from this blog because we not only found our perfect house, but we have been furiously busy working on making it even more special. While I knew that I would take some time off of writing for a while, what I originally thought might be a couple of weeks turned into a couple of months – and that is just unacceptable. I’ve been back at it each morning, committing to myself to either write poetry or a list of things I noticed every day. No exceptions. Writing every day is something that gives me life, and so is this new house of ours.

The love of this house isn’t even just about the physical space, although the light from the windows and my view of the sunrise from my office each morning gives me great joy, but this house has provided such a sense of peace in a short time. It’s an older home and needs a lot of care, but there is something about it that just feels right. The months of completely changing my world by moving back across country and living in limbo for a time led me here. I knew this was coming, I just didn’t know how right it really would feel.