Four small letters to lead me exactly where I’m suppose to be.

This is home for as long as I can remember. I have lived other places since growing up where the air was thick with humidity and honeysuckles. I traded in the Chesapeake Bay for Lake Erie, and then the Hudson River but nothing has felt quite like this white house when the sun sets pink behind the gable as it does in this photo.

This place has been my beacon through some of the hardest and most joyful moments in my life. No matter where I was, who I was with, or what was happening; I always knew this house would glow as steadfastly as the porch light left on to guide me through the dark to the safety of being inside where I am loved.

Here in these writings you will find a person a year into her third decade. A curly haired girl leaving her twenties behind and searching for a home of her own. A place to belong. A shelter from uneasy days. A welcome light on the road untraveled.

I’m glad you are here.

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