Thoughts and Ideas

A Dream

It's late in the afternoon, just on the cusp of 5 o'clock, and I'm walking down the shady suburban street I call home. The light is golden and the air is perfectly warm, birds sing up in the trees, and a breeze gently rustle the leaves. Cars rush by some streets away, but this street is empty, save for my footsteps.

My style is fashionable, yet utterly comfortable. It is vintage, and not exactly the norm, but I feel like myself this way and am not afraid of that. This is a place where I am comfortable, and nothing will change that. I start to hum a little, left in a good mood from my good day, humming an old tune I'd heard somewhere before.

Finally, I turn the corner, and there is home. It's a small home, with only one story and an admittedly shabby roof (yet it still serves its purpose), and a lovely porch with two rocking chairs  and a porch swing. Hanging from the rafters of the porch is an old lantern, something I picked up in a store specializing in such beautiful, old things, and I intend to light it in a few hours once the sun goes down. Beside the lantern is a set of wind chimes, because life feels just a little incomplete without their soothing song.

I can hear music coming from inside, music similar to that of which I was singing before, and I cannot help but grin. I step upon the porch, hearing it creak beneath my feet, and remove my keys from my purse, unlocking the evergreen door and entering the house. Shutting the door behind me, the first thing I notice is the smell of something absolutely delicious wafting out of the kitchen. I recognize it instantly as an old recipe, and my stomach immediately begins to growl and my mouth waters. I'll be eating well tonight.

I set my purse down on the end table beside the well-cushioned sofa and remove my sweater and shoes, placing them on the coatrack and the floor respectively. I stretch my arms as I walk further into the house, drawing the cream curtains of a few of the window, and I make my way into the kitchen. There, my most favorite people are, cooking in the kitchen and clearing the table, talking and laughing and singing. When they take notice of my presence, they smile and greet me, welcoming me back home. I cannot suppress a smile myself, and I begin preparing a fresh pitcher of tea to go along with dinner, looking forward to the excellent meal and lively conversation that surely await me in an hour.

I know it is merely a dream now, but who is to say that it won't come true someday? Everyone has an idea of paradise, and mine surely isn't too impossible to create. However difficult it may be, I will one day live in my cozy, friendly dream.