Hand on heart I think Of home, in my minds eye I see a distant snow covered peak, forest for miles in front and as I concentrate upon an open flower strewn field before me is a log cabin, the door opens and out She runs. Young and carefree, petals float around her, kicked up as she skips around. A couple of dogs run towards and join in the fun, curious eyes peep out of the woods, birds circle around diving for the insects disturbed by the racket. Sunlight shines down with a benevolent face, no cloud to be seen in the ultraviolet sky. Home, sweet home is this me, yet to be or times gone by. No matter time has no meaning here, it just is.