fresh baked cookies.

it isn’t a warm cup of coffee that greets me

it isn’t a comfy sweater and fuzzy socks

it isn’t the front door that’s left wide open

it isn’t the bed that has extra blankets in the winter time

it isn’t the smell of freshly cleaned towels

and it isn’t a bed time story before my eyes get heavy for the night

you’d like to think so

but no

it’s the instrument of conversation that dances through the hallways

it’s the loud passion that anger has sometimes with a side of honesty

it’s a wide open window on a stormy eve with jazz to accompany it’s booms

it’s the watered footprints after a warm lavender bath and the smell of a blown out candle

it’s a kitty’s purr that may as well shake the whole house with her comfort

and it’s those just because chocolate chip cookies at 8 am in the morning