Danbury is my home, my house, and my hearth.

It is the bustling Main Street and the quiet back roads. It is the big lake full of waterweeds and the seagulls that fight with the geese on the shore.

The squirrels that tease drivers as they dash across the roads and the deer I see receading into the forest as we drive by.

The bright, bloody sunrises and the tranquil, purple sunsets that cling to the tufts of clouds as they gently float above.

Danbury is the place I know the best out of this whole world.

I have seen parts of the other world outside my quiet Danbury and although it is wider and brighter, it is also, at times, too much.

They don't have the seasons like Danbury does, their birds don't chirp the same, the wind doesn't whistle as sweetly.

Even if I leave for years at a time and travel the world around, I will always return to Danbury and my little house on the corner with the big oak tree.