Coming Home
Last night I grabbed the trash in the kitchen and took it outside to the garbage cans. Instead of walking straight back into the house, I walked slowly around the side and towards the front of the building. The neighborhood was quiet and the sky was gathering clouds for a possible rain. I checked the mailbox out of habit, knowing I had already gotten the days mail. Turning to continue my walk, I saw him standing there looking up at me. Wilson had come home.
After a few moments of sharing conversation and strokes, we walked back into the house. I opened a can of tuna, watched him eat, and looked to see if he had any injuries. He was fine. Although he wasn’t gone for a real long time, he does appear to be bigger and more mature, as if he has experienced his rite of passage. It’s so good to have him home.