⇾ Daily #24 (hobbit hole) ⚘

(just going to quickly note how adorable this daily is <3)

If you’ll place your hand on the knob, give it a turn, and press a little, the first thing you'll want to notice is the way the door squeaks merrily.
It isn’t a screeching, rude sort of sound, rather, it seems like even the door is pleased to say hello to you.
The second thing you’re likely to notice is the way that the walls are covered in trinkets. Landscape paintings, hung instruments, and even a few documents pinned to the forest-green walls. Shelves seem to be on every wall, holding every kind of story imaginable. Science, history, legends, maybe even a mystery or two- for what is a good home without a little intrigue here and there?
Which, of course, means you certainly won’t notice the passages that weave between rooms willy-nilly.
The third thing you’ll notice is the way that the being in the center of it all seems to be doing a hundred little things at once.
She is sitting at a small table, singing to herself quietly, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, all while taking a rest between lines of a song to take long drinks of her hot cocoa.
A shocking amount of hot cocoa.
You may notice the way that the kitchen has newspapers and books strewn about, for it is the owner's philosophy that there ought to be a little reading material in every room, even when one is taking a meal.
Light streams in a little window, sending specks of dust here and there. They twist and turn and spin about for a moment or two before finding a new place to rest, at least, until the next morning comes and the sun disturbs their peace again.
It manages to be a place of calm, even as the owner seems to change rooms and activities every few minutes, twiddling away on a piano one minute, reading the next, and maybe knitting a while later.
The house is a friendly little place to be.
It's strange, though.
Many a time, this house would inspire a feeling of home.
Not that the feeling of home is bad, it's simply not the word the owner would apply to their little abode.
Home is a place of rest.
This place, however, is a place for adventures.
There's a violin, isn't there? A piano? A harp?
There are books, aren't there? Paper? Pens?
Could you call a home a place of rest, when the best journies of life are taken there?
Home is where life happens.
And life is a journey in and of itself.

⇾ 430 words ⚘