This is Home.

A few days ago, I awoke to this scene, akin to something from a Jane Austen novel. The fog was still heavy, the crickets had retired, the morning birds were not yet stirring... Peaceful. Perfectly still. The view from my bedroom window, not unlike every other morning, the same, but with an unmistakable sense of solitude. For I could see no one, nothing beyond the front pasture, and yet everything. As far as my eyes could see, only my garden, my yard, my home. We were together alone, enveloped in a cocoon of mist, insulated from the outside world. This is home.