Today I saw a butterfly fluttering against the window. It was struggling a bit, no doubt having just woken up from a long winter nap.
Spring is definitely upon us, and the equinox is just around the corner.
I unpacked my summer clothes a while ago, from the boxes that bore them from Southern California to my new home in North Georgia. We've been here for three months. I shook them out and hung them, though the wrinkles may never fall out. They'll most likely be scheduled for a quick trip around the clothes dryer before they're worn.
Bugsy meows at the door to come in. And I wonder. Does he miss home, too?
I bet he does. He misses the knucklehead. And his balcony. He misses the land where he was born.
I hold my gentle comrade close. And we miss that home together.