My House A Home

I was born in the fifties to a family with four kids, A little town in where my family lived. My daddy worked in the Cotton Mill, Mama stayed home with us kids. Mama's job never ended but she didn't seem to mine.

Daddy bought a little house small in need of a coat of paint, Mama really loved it, she bowed her head in thanks...Early in the morning while we kids were still in bed..I could hear her in the kitchen brewing coffee, baking bread. The aroma from the kitchen flavored every room .,a scent to remind us breakfast would be soon. A fire in the fire place, the house cozy and warm,.with hands of love mama made the little house a home. Home can't be measured or characterized by shape or size, Home is the family, and the love they share inside.,. .......

Comments 1 comment

Jean Foster 5 years ago

Very good writing!! Feel like I have gone back in time.

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