The log cabin is old and worn, but its interior is fresh. You step inside, immediately struck by the warmth radiating from the fire in the hearth. The elderly couple smile at you, welcoming you without their voices. You were invited here. There are three chairs in front of the fire, three at the table. You are home here.
A pot of soup bubbles gently over the fire. The air smells of rosemary and dried fruits. Fresh loaves of bread rest on the countertops, cooling slowly. Straw and twine and scissors sit on the table, inviting you to make something with them. Your hands twitch, the itch of creation straining at the tips of your fingers.
Spring is approaching, each day longer than the one before. You will need your energy to tend to the growth that is being sown. Feel the warmth of the soup as it slides off the spoon. Let it spread, warming all the dark corners of you that don’t get to see the light. Have a bite of bread, a touch of sweetness to lighten the warmth.
There is a cup of mead next to your plate. Sip from it, feeling as the honey makes its way to your head. Let your mind relax. Today, you get to rest. To build up your spirit. Soon, it will be needed.
Settle into the warm comforts of home, whoever home is to you.
Ashton Rose 