There’s a little white house
on a little green hill
where the red, red roses grow.
There’s a light shining bright
in my window tonight,
and it shines for me I know.
The skies may be cloudy,
but what do I care?
Mother’s eyes may say “howdy!”
and welcome back the rowdy
to the little white house
on the little green hill
where the red, red roses grow.
I love to travel. For me, Paris has been nothing but a dream. I have hardly felt homesick the entire time. That being said, I like to have a place to go- a place to call my home. Living with a host family truly helped me see what it’s like living in Paris, from a Parisian’s point of view. It allowed me to have a place where I could escape the busy and bustling city life, and enjoy God’s beautiful earth in blessed silence (well, besides the birdsongs.). These photos, void of sentimentality, hold memories for me alone. Though there are no facial expressions to enjoy, I will still be able to look back and remember
the early morning jogs and yoga by the Seine,
the warm (late night) dinners with the family.
the beautiful small details,
and beautiful big details of the Julienne’s house.
I will hold a sweet sentimentality in this happy place. It will give me a memory of Paris that probably no other average tourist will carry. I’m grateful for the home away from home I enjoyed here, and will always have fond memories of this little white house on a hill.
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