My Home Is My Refuge

My home is my refuge, my castle wiggly whee wiggly woo. I love being here the best with my cat and doggies of two. My husband thinks it is his place, he is a lion in this den. Walking around with big paws, but a gentle giant which is a win. On weekdays it is just my husband and Sophie and Buddy our dogs. They take naps and watch tv and rarely walk down to the bogs. In the summer I am home where I used to chant, drum and hug trees. Older now, I sit on the porch and watch creatures fly by on a breeze. We are surrounded by wood soldiers, who keep us safely intact. There is a tractor next door that goes prr prrr trick track and tract. The guy who drives it is an epileptic who is not allowed to drive cars. He spends the summer prr prring this tractor around, Mr. McLars. There used to be cows next to the fence which I thought was keen. But McLars’ mother moved them to another farm, not ever seen. She has dementia now, so I rarely see her outside anymore. But we used to have conversations, which I would always adore. The other neighbors are not friendly, but this is okay with me. I spend my summers doing what I want – usually painting with glee. Every day an adventure, as I do exactly what I want and nothing else. Age has earned me the right to put my “have tos” way high on a shelf.