"Home is where the heart is."

Waking up to a warm spring day, I walk out our sliding glass door onto the warm stained wood of the deck out back. My cat is lying underneath a bench contently flipping her tail in the light breeze. I am greeted by my mother, who looks up from the book resting on her lap. As the sun shines on my face and I take a deep breath of crisp, fresh air, I lean down to hug her. This is my parents’ home. It is where I live, where I spent most of my childhood and where I love to come home to after a long week at school. But even with these strong ties to my parents’ house, I long to have a home of my own, set on vast acres of tantalizing green grass. My dream is to have horses that roam the land and eagerly greet me for an easy morning ride along the forest trails, and to have cows and ducks and pigs that have their own personalities and amuse me with their ridiculous antics. One day, this will be my home – where my heart truly lies – on the rolling hills of my very own farm.