The Warm Waters of Home

There’s a new body-scrubbing puff in my shower this morning. I notice it as I let the warm waters wash away ten days of road dust and it makes me realize, yet again, how little I really need to make me happy. It helps me remember how much I love home.

A silly little shower puff.

Excuse me a moment. There’s some soap in my eye.

It is, of course, more than the puff. It’s the feel of my own bed and the mold of my pillow. It’s the warmth of my wife beside me. It’s the rollicking, goofy joy of the dogs as I come in the doorway. Where have you been? Where have you been? I’m SO happy to see you!

It’s the pile of cool mail that waits on my desk; a friend’s new book, the first honest-to-goodness check for my scribblings, the deed to the ten acres of woodland next door – our additional buffer from the intruding world and an another tether to home.

It’s the garden that needs weeding and the hillside that needs mulch and the driveway that needs stone. It’s the blowdown that needs splitting so that it’s ready for winter burning. It’s the truck that needs its annual cleanup, the redbuds that need replanting, and the chimney that needs work. It’s their needs, I suppose, that I need.

And there are stories to be told. It seems so long since that was true, whatever the reason. But after ten days chasing trout in British Columbia, Alberta, and Montana, I’ve brought home a few. So keep an eye here for the next week or so, as I test my notes and my memory and my photography skills. But don’t worry. Where they fail, as they inevitably do, I’ll just make shit up. It’s more fun that way, anyway.

But not today, so indulge me a bit. For the moment, I’m simply going to stand here and let the warm waters of home wash over me.

And enjoy my new puff.