Just over that ridge is a little cottage called home.
Snow clinging to the heather as it melts away to reveal a hint of spring. At first the mist covers the view, but now the little cottage, with its smoke whispering its welcome fills me with hope. I can almost smell my mother’s bread wafting over the horizon.
It has been ten years since I have been to see my mother, but we both agreed it was for the best. She wanted better for me, told me to have an adventure. I didn’t want to leave her.
Mum insisted.
I travelled the world, took a myriad of pictures on my phone. Today I would show her every one. From the tallest view of a skyscraper in New York, to the amazing Eiffel Tower. I had climbed mountains, and rode on the rapids, drank the best hot chocola. The last ten years were full of adventure and I wanted to share them with her.
As the door opened, and my mum, with more grey than I remembered, opened the door – there was nothing more beautiful than the little cottage. A small wooden table, with nothing more than a loaf of bread, cheese, and coffee just the way I liked it.
The most gorgeous thing of all was her smile.
I had travelled the world, but home was where I wanted to be.
Writer Ravenclaw 