My New Home

It's more of a flat then a home, really, right in the middle of a little country town on the edge of Devon in the south of England. It's old, a hundred years old, and made of bricks and little plaster roses all around the roof. It used to be one big house for someone very, very rich, but now it's split into two. My family owns the top half, and we're about to fix up the huge third-story attic into our bedrooms. What you see when you drive down our road and stop at our house are big russet-colored gates, and a driveway of pebbles; they make a warm crackling noise when you step on them. There are two separate driveways for the top and bottom half of the house. Bushes line the left side of the drive, with colorful flowers and glossy leaves everywhere. Then you reach the little "parking lot." It's a square of concrete where were park our little car, with our two white garages right in front. Follow the little allyway along our neighbor's fence, and there's our yard: a square of bright green grass, shrubbery, and a swing set. It's cheerful and warm and sunny, and I love to read out there, delving my mind into the Twilight Saga (my newest obsession). It's my new home. It's where I belong now.