The Ideal Home Is In the Heart
No matter how skilled, rich, talented, or famous I may become, I will never be able to build my dream home. There will be instances in time that reflects aspects of my ideal, but it will never be the sum of my dreams.
My dream house is a reflection of my soul. Tranquil and at peace, yet questing and growing. The evolution of an individual never stops. I see, I learn, I experience, I change.The sweet stink of horses rolling in the dirt, or the fog filled hollows of the endless pastures. A golden Mauna Kea with a halo'd crown at the crack of dawn, or a lone ohia tree accompanied by cows. The taste of a stick of grass and the river like stillness which is the wind, are all parts of my soul.
A dream home is just that, A DREAM. People in our lives come and go and what is important constantly changes. Rather than focusing on my dreams, I will focus on the things I like and appreciate it for what it is. Physical possession is futile. Memories and appreciating life is what matters. Dreams are nothing more than flights of fancy. Truly, the ideal home is in the heart.Wise marble tile, supporting my path, and beautiful open beam ceilings, heady and flighty. Stout ohia pillars, rustic yet supportive, and cobalt clay shingles, loyal and protective. Pine boughs sweeping the sky clean and pine needles cushioning my steps. Drops of dew, each a prism of light for the observant eye, chilling my feet with every soggy step. The chicken skin New Years Eve, with the stench of sulfur and fire, yet warmed by the love of my family. With Heineken headaches, each of us participates in the cleaning of the red paper, lending a hand, making the work easier.
E. L. Spencer