The house breathes of life lived in peace, of people who have worked towards having a great life, it smells of marzipan.
It is filled with toys that hang from the ceiling, one can loose oneself trying to discern each one, dancing on top of our heads; there are many little airplanes, in different colors and shapes. Some are helicopters and others balloons. But they all fly, as they should!
On top of the beams there are also placed wooden toys, and most of them are, too, airplanes. They sit there waiting in the gate for departure. Waiting for a new adventure, for a new destination.
The house feels of reached destinations, of goals that were met. it breathes and lives off the aura of its inhabitants.
The house is filled with books, books about travels. It feeds off the knowledge inside these books. The house is part of the world around it, its inside is in tune with the landscape around it, inside and outside are interlinked and speak the same language.
The house smells of marzipan, and lingering inside its walls one can smell freshly baked bread and strawberries and cream.
It smells of people with great minds and big hearts; and it is happy.
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