You turn off the paved road onto a dirt road, lined with trees, the woods are thick, the road winds through over a swamp… If you look you can see a beaver dam in the distance on the right, then a couple of homes and you hit a section that is dense again with trees, you pass a dead end sign as you hit a curve and ahead in the distance the road seems to end in a gate…. that’s my Swampy Bottom Acres. My dream home. A board and batton cabin with a metal roof, porches stretching the length of it, front and back. Three oak trees shade and frame it’s front. Porch is filled with green plants, and the steps and a ramp up the side beckon you to come in. Inside the tiny house is filled with books, comfortable furniture, and a lifetime of memories scattered about the walls, bookcases, and such. The tiny house perfect for my life. Space enough to enjoy life in my era of life. The front bay window views the woods from inside, a bird feeder just outside gives me birdsong to enjoy, and the squirrels frolic in the trees, up the rails of the ramp for a visit and to annoy my mutt Jake. The back porch holds my rocking chair and a view of oaks and pines that buffer me from being close to anyone or thing but nature. The acres are dotted with trees, and the deer come through early and late, as well as rabbits, possums, and raccoons. There are benches placed about for sitting, reflection, and enjoying the view. Home is a place. A feeling, a dream of how I want or see my life… my dream home is a cabin in the woods, at thr end of a dead end dirt road, quiet, a road less traveled, one where the majority of the world’s noise does not make it to. Where birds and things are my neighbors, where I find the light brightest, the music of nature soothes my soul… the place my dreams are real and alive.