The closing of my door.

Me Sitting alone in the twilight, on my sofa, the furry blue throw soft against my hands, listening to the companionable rain.

The friendly bookcase in the corner, packed full of books, the ting tang clock standing atop it, keeping the elephant bookends and Austrian stein company.

The ebony elephant on the cabinet, one ear slightly mauled, watches me quizzickally, far from his home in China.

—

The bookcase in my bedroom, still smelling faintly of the pine forest, fuses with the scent of books.

The luxury of freshly laundered sheets against my skin.

Home. Bliss!