The Sky is Crying Sunshine

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.

Later, I heard a buzzing, and found a wasp stirring against the door I'd propped open to let in the warm, fresh air. He, too, was having a bit of a rough time, trying out his new wings.

Yesterday, while driving home, I noticed a weeping willow bowing down with its first coat of green. And the daffodils have been blooming for a week.

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.

Unpacking those clothes made me homesick. Oh, I know that Georgia is home. But so much of my heart lies on that far west coast that it brings tears to my eyes. And a longing to my heart.

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.