I walk up the hallway, round to the staircase. I walk down the hallway, round to the kitchen. Back and forth, forth and back. The narrow walls pulse and the cool natural wood floor does not creak like our last house with its more than a century old red fir floor, certain boards I knew would wake my newborn babe, big steps over cracks, break your mama's back - or wake a just asleep, sweaty infant, and still break your mama's back. One corner of this hallway smells like my grandma. Sweet baked things with just a hint of Beautiful. I noticed the smell within our first months here five years ago. It is just as strong as ever now. I just smelled her there yesterday. I move around in this house alongside my family and I declare this as a place that is a living thing. We fling bad feelings off our backs, kick the weight of the day down at night, curl into each others' arms for some quiet and still and comfort. All around us, the low thrum of love beats in these walls. I walk around here and count my blessings, beautiful life things, collected like feathers and shells.