I’ve been in my home since I learned how to ride a bicycle.  My home has supplied me with a great deal of warmth. Whether it be from winters as cold as Antarctica or a bad day. Ever since I was young I had the message that a home is a safe and secure place ingrained in my mind.

My house rests on a small hill. It has a jet-black driveway with many cracks leading up to a two-car garage. Surrounding the garage door are large green walls wrapping around the house with a dark black roof. There is a gray-brick chimney sprouting from the middle of the roof.

My house is a little weird.  Most of the major rooms, such as the living room and kitchen, are located on the second and floor. I always thought that this was normal. My sister’s room and mine are on the far right side of the house while my parents’ room is on the opposite side with a kitchen to split us apart. Across from the house lies a pool. The poolwater glistens in the sunlight like ocean waves. Numerous berry bushes grow on the outside perimeter of the pool gate, which are enjoyable to eat during the spring. 

Next to the pool area, behind the fence, stands a plum tree. This tree casts a large shadow. In the summer I like to visit the comforting shadow and grab a juicy violet plum from the tree. This is a place to find peace and serenity.  Everyone has their safe spot and under the tree is that place for me. 

My home isn’t anything special to an outsider looking in, but it means a lot to me.