I imagine a home, with imperfect floors, worn and scuffed with dirt nestled between the boards. When you open the door to this home you feel the light breeze push across your silhouette , the curtains in the living area billow out with the flow of air, as if the open windows were breathing. In the stream of light pillaring through, you can see the dust specs glow and dance a synchronized waltz. You feel a gust of confidence that, though you are in control of nothing, the world around you is at peace. The next step you take will cause a creak, so familiar to home that you smile just a bit. You are on your way down the hall, it's cooler in this dark line-up of well molded doors and beautifully hung accent fames of family photos, with only the best memories on display. As you turn the corner you lay your hand on the wall with the texture of the paper lining felt beneath your fingertips.
The aroma and heat of the kitchen is wafting through the dining area towards where you stand, starting to float past you down the corridor. You hear the sounds of someone lightly chopping vegetables on a wood cutting board, and instantly after sizzling in a pan.
You smile and close you eyes, home is all around you and the soul of the house is in sync with the beat of your heart, each exhale and inhale. The air is light, while the house is warm.
It is what peace feels like.