Almost I can smell how home is. There is firewood and smoke, cardamom and coffee, dusty electricity of the sewing machine. Old paint at the terrace with wind through open door. Woven carpets and something good baking in the ashes of the oven. Trees crackling in the wind, pine trees and moss covered rocks.
It is more than seven months when I visited home. Next week I will be there. Still a few days to enjoy the autumn in Frankfurt.