A House of Dreams

I stumbled into a dream the other night.

It was just a regular old Friday night.

And then. The house. Not too big, not too small. Old, so old it was historic. Impeccably cared for. In perfect, beautiful brick condition.

The pastures. Green and buzzing in the early evening.

The horses. Whinnying as we approached.

The yard. Shaded and fragrant.

From September 2011

The pond. Rippling and clear.

The creek. Bubbling and rushing.

I was suddenly staring my dream future in the face.

From September 2011

 "This is my dream house!" I texted my husband.

"Tell them we'll take it!" he texted back.

"It's not for sale." I mournfully texted back.

I know that I am living my dream now. I have everything I need, and practically everything I want.

But as I wandered the grounds of this perfectly cared-for farm, I desperately wished it was mine.

I wished to feed the horses a carrot or two, say good-night to the ducks and wander over to the fire pit and find my family all there roasting marshmallows.

Then when it was much too late, we'd climb sleepily up the hill and retire into our warm comfy beds, safe under the roof of dreams.

Dreams.

But instead, I cleaned up from our party, cooled and wetted the coals from our fire, made sure the actual farm owners knew we were heading out, and stared longingly, one last time.

Someday.

Someday my farm will come.

Someday my boys will run the fields of our own. Our horses will nibble carrots from our hands, and we'll bask in the shade of our ancient trees.

But for now, we huddle tightly together under our roof of reals. How we love our roof. Our trees, our ragtag yard full of a weeds, littered toys and a tiny garden in the back. Our yard that is an amusement park for dragon flies and the neighbor cat who hunts them. And chain link fences for climbing.

From Drop Box

Our tiny house full of corners. Something stacked in every space.

Yes, we are tightly packed.

But right now, what could be better?

Home.