Fire

Laying in front of the fire again. This time atop a pile of moving pads (the kind moving companies use) neatly folded and cleaned they where the closest thing I could find to a blanket without searching more boxes. The fire is hot. I can feel the warmth reach my bones. I am home. As in my own home. One that has my heart, sweat and tears. My Mr. and my hard earned dollars and precious time invested. My hands dry and cracked from hauling wood. Tiny cuts on my fingers from opening box after box. Labors of love, all of it. I am happy in front of this fire. Chaotic, complicated or confused my mind rests at home. Torn, broken or aching my heart is full in this house. A haven to nourish and grow my precious family. How can something such as walls, bricks and wood a bit of dirt and hard work make me feel so whole? So calm? I am happy lying in front of this fire.
Linking to just write