Flowers are always the way to arrive ...

I didn't realise how much I love a bunch of flowers in a new place ... not just in Genova but in anyplace new.  They are surely a way to arrive ... a way to feel 'at home'.

The Sweetpeas have been abundant in the garden herein Wallonia.  They remind me of my childhood back home in Mosgiel.  My mum loved them.

We were up early out here in the country this morning, a pavlova made from freshly-laid eggs went into the oven straight after breakfast.  Gert whipped up a batch of his sultana and frangipani bread ...  Welcome home gifts for the family who gave us their beautiful house for a couple of weeks. 

Now to clean and leave for 't stad.  Meanwhile, my beautiful flowers ...

The word home comes from a root meaning 'the place where one lies'.  The phrase refers to our physical place of residence and rest, our bed, but it also prompts me to consider where the core of the 'one' that is me - who I am, my soul - lies.

Lisa McKay, from Love at the Speed of Sound.

I found this today, over on Marianne Elliott's blog and, as always when it comes to questions of 'home, I paused to consider my sense of the word.

But then I wandered off outside, before the storm, and photographed the sweetpeas ... a favourite flower of mine, back in the days of my childhood because I have lived in so many homes, in so many places, since those stable days of a life lived in Mosgiel.