I had a dream that my husband and I were looking to buy a house and we found one we really liked. The only problem with this particular house was that the previous owner had written “happy” across the front of the house in thick white paint. In my dream, we discussed painting over it, and we questioned why anyone would do such a thing, especially before putting it on the market.

That was it. That was my dream.

When I woke up, it got me thinking.

What would you find in a “happy” house?

What is it about my own home that brings me happiness?

There is water on the windows.

It happens when warm humidity touches cool glass.

This week might be the last warm week before cold sets in for good.

The windows might be swampy for a few more days.

I long to build a crackling fire.

I want to turn on the heat and smell that first season burn.

“It’s been the same season long enough,” I tell myself.

She was learning something new. Wide eyed, eager to try the unfamiliar and intimidating, not knowing she would receive such a fast return for her courage.

She mixed and rolled, twisted and waited. Something sound was taking shape from such modest components as warm water, flour and yeast.