No matter how long, how far the trip, have come back that day. No matter how wonderful or decadent past day, always with the pace or tried to meet a familiar door. No matter how awkward, even if injured, fled, also want to flee to the house to call "home", and hiding in the dark and warm corner lick wounds. Regardless of harvest is joy or sadness, to be brought home, careful finishing, deep collections.
Home, the eternal topic, had always across my mind,
and now immerse crowd to go home, hidden in a suitcase in the sound of the
pulley. Suddenly tired of my own body and mind, we are looking for our own
harbor, unloading our own heavy baggage. The home is the
compass do not have to look for, it does not stop calling for the return of
every person in the work. This is home to remember.
In the ring road on the edge of my home, there is a
small house and big garden. Around my house planted a variety of trees and
flowers, they have been stretched open the green leaves, in the gently swaying.
A pedestrian path from the front passed. Along the winding walkways, can connect
to the north and south on both sides to the highway.
I enjoyed the day at home without work, and travel
everywhere. I enjoy to take a cup of tea or drink a cup of coffee, sitting on
the couch studying. I also enjoy knitting sweaters, while watching TV. I enjoy
cooking more food to reward my own and my family. In the small home, I enjoy
all the good things. Because tomorrow, I want to scrape the old yesterday, with
a new day in the sun. Starting from here, into the dust of the day......
