The book house was all aglow,
in the beautiful darkness.
The pastel moon looked painted,
so still, so serene,
casting a path over soft waves,
like artwork, like a dream.
I wonder if the people with stars in their windows
ever sit outside to watch the stars in the sky.
The Gosnold Arms were welcoming
and purple lights glared through glass doors
of a Halloween-spirited house.
I pulled through Spring Hill Loop,
driving slowly, remembering,
entering my old driveway,
ignoring the private way signs.
My house held not a single light,
so I could not even see it,
but I felt it.
This was home.
