While I found Maine to be very beautiful, nothing I saw there was quite as lovely as my town, my street and my HOME when I arrived back here, after an extra unplanned day of travel (which happens to me often.) Fall had not arrived before I left. It came while I was gone, and it is glorious here on this old street with lovely old trees. My husband took the photo of our house (above) a few days before I got home. I took the one below of our across-the-street neighbor's house, with it's scarlet ivy.
Even Booker is fascinated by the beautiful leaves. He likes to nudge the lower ones, so they fall on him.
When I was a young girl, back in the dinosaur days before email and cell phones, my Grandmother would write us letters, and whenever she wrote about where she lived, she used all capital letters; HOME. It made it clear how she felt about her modest home; she loved it. It was the one place on earth where those whom she loved could always find her. That made it worthy of the distinction she gave it by always capitalizing the word. Grandma and Dorothy, both Kansas gals, were quite right: "There's no place like HOME."