Home Is The Smell of Sausages, Toast and Coffee

Home—For me, when I think of “home”, I am once again seven years old.  The coffee is brewing in a percolator; the light is dim in the small kitchen.  My grandfather, a musician, sits in a metal chair, the daily newspaper spread over the table, “funnies’ waiting for a child’s gleeful chortles.  The sweet smell of sausage and richly-buttered toast floats, welcoming, over the cast iron skillet.  We celebrate the light of another morning.  Yes, this is home.

Home is where the coffee percolates :)