Descriptive Memories Of Home

Decent Essays

A home means a multitude of things to a multitude of people. For some it is simple, four walls and a roof over one’s head, a constructed mass of wood, concrete, and glass. It is a structure to sustain life. For others, it’s more complex, more of a feeling in one’s heart than a tangible place of residence. For me, it is neither simple nor complex; it is a warm feeling of family and an abundance of love as well as a physical location overflowing with memories. No matter how far anyone strays from a house, if it was once their home, it always will be. Despite the fact that I no longer live in my grandparent’s home, each time I return there I am overcome with feelings home, family, and love. That home is warmth and happiness epitomized. It is one of the most significant parts of my childhood. Even if a house does not appear to be anything grand or beautiful, its beauty comes from the memories and love that made it a home.

My most vivid memories of the house are during the bitter months of winter, but they are the warmest memories I have. I see it like a Christmas postcard in my mind: a large yet cozy brick house blanketed in a layer of pure white snow, candles radiating a warm glow from the windowsills. Rustic sconces illuminate the front door, adorned with a wreath that shouts Christmas. Through the window, a humble but lovely Christmas tree can be standing as a proclamation to the impending festivities. As I approach the house, the smells of home engulf me: the crisp

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