The smells of this place,

the rustling leaves,

the gravel drive,

it will some day fade to memories.

They will laugh about the bonfires that lit the sky ablaze and led them to screech out words to him, wondering whether he would set the barn on fire.

They will be haunted by the coyotes cries.

Their eyes will probably midst when they see an old women feeding ducks at the park pond.

Nothing ever turns out as you imagined.

This blending of families, this his and hers merging to form a space called ours.

One day, they will wonder whether he and her had questioned, had they feared the hardship, the work this place could bring?

Then, very quickly, their gaze will shift. They will think of the love and the weight of the word will come, Home.