A Lantern in the Landscape

My ideal home would not be a castle or a palace, but a lantern—
simple, steady, facing north so the sun fills it each morning.
A lantern doesn’t hoard light; it gathers it, then spills it out again.
That’s all I’d ask of a home.

It would sit close enough to bushland that walking feels natural,
where I can step onto the track and let the day clear my head.
Nearby, a stretch of parkland would be wide enough for the dog to run—
where she can race ahead on the grass and double back, grinning.

The house wouldn’t puff smoke or drain power;
instead, it would sip gently from the sun,
content without the glitter of pools or gadgets.

A lantern doesn’t drive itself anywhere;
it stays put, and people find it.
So I’d live near shops, services, a bus stop—
enough connection to keep life flowing.

And if I could dream a little further—
the lantern would sit on land being coaxed back to life.
Trees rising, birds returning,
creatures shy and rare finding room again.
One day, when I’m gone,
the lantern might be passed on,
its light folded into a greater cause,
its place in the landscape still shining

Daily writing prompt

What does your ideal home look like?

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