For us, it was about home... Whatever and wherever that might be. Those small common things that make life valuable: taste of linden blossom in your afternoon tea...soft sunlight on moist lawn...sound of steps on the wooden floor...doors and knobs and the feel of entering something new...
Just silently being. 
About the most expensive of all feelings: tranquility. About balance. Like a jar full of quiet happiness. When somebody tells you that everything will be just right. Velvet soft voice that you could believe in. 
About touch. Your fingers in contact with ancient, almost magical in its occurrence. Unimaginably far away from horizons of today. So far, that everydayness becomes just a pearl on the board of stone...
For us, it was a secret pleasure, making this hidden from the eyes of the world. Transforming solid rock into the state of mind. Believing that:

"Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics dies,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts."

Dylan Thomas, Light breaks where no sun shines*

* Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines, Ty Llen Publications, 2004