Homecoming

I wake up scratching two welts on my ankle.

 I wish I had used Off after my final Nicaragua shower.

The sky is grey with impending snow.

There is no sun streaming through lace curtains.

No cool morning breeze through louvered glass.

No concert of a thousand  birds.

No smell of huevos rancheros (eggs and salsa).

No slanting dormer above me.

No splashing from an already-occupied shower.

I slip into fleece-lined slippers,

stir up a mug of Cafe Francais,

snuggle into my recliner with a fuzzy blanket,

and open the Pella Chronicle.


It is good to be home.

It was good to be gone.

Except for the bugs.