What is home to you? Is it the four walls of your house or flat or is it something more.

I’ve been away for a few days, helping look after my mum who is recuperating after a fall, staying in an unfamiliar house. When I came home I thought about this a lot. What is home to me? This is what I’ve discovered. Home is a cup of tea in my mug with my brand of teabags. It’s a long hot bath with loads of bubbles, a lit candle and soft music playing in the background. Home is my chair in the kitchen, my saucepans and knives that I chose and use, to cook my way. It’s the little routines we have, what we watch on TV and when, our chairs, our beds, our furnishings, simple though they may be. This is what home means to me. It will be entirely different for someone else.

I felt most at home when I got back into my own routine, not necessarily my house. Once I’d got dressed and had my morning cuppa, I set off to walk my dog, Harry. The air was fresh and although it wasn’t particularity warm it felt good to wrap up and stride out onto the common. It was exhilarating to be walking through the wooded and grassy areas, following paw prints that were left where the soil was sandy, boot marks where it was muddy. The sun dappled through the leaves that were hanging on to the trees before the last gusts of autumn will blow them down. Home is not necessarily brick and tiles, wood and slate, it’s more the familiarity, the small, everyday things that we take for granted.

Walking my dog feels like home to me. What is home to you?

I’d love to hear about the little things that make you feel safe and rooted.