There is a home away from home. It's strange to think of having two homes, and it's even stranger to have your heart connected to two buildings, clear across the country from each other. This little home is unfinished. It has rough walls, and two-by-fours hanging low enough to bump your head on. The carpet is worn, and the corners lift up in places; in fact, it almost seems as if it is attempting to trip you on purpose. The screen doors slam vigorously behind you when you walk out on the rough grey lumber porch, and the side door doesn't shut all the way. It's the little things; sometimes the annoying things that make a house a home. And this little place - this little cabin in the 'woods' - is fast becoming just that. A home away from home.