Daydreaming.

Daydreaming about a white stone longhouse on top of a hill in Scotland. Heather on the moors beside me. A forest of dark green on the other.

Chickens are pecking at my muddy boots, waiting for the scraps of vegetables I have in my hands.

I'm wrapped up in layers of fleece as I tend to the animals and spy the early spring flowers popping up through the bed.

I stop to sip my hot tea, and the smell of nearly baked breakfast muffins wafts out the open side door.

The birds are twittering, the sheep are bleeting, the faint laughter of the littles inside and a wave of happy comfort pours over me.

This is what home feels like.