I’m back. The cat cusses me out for leaving him. The dog glares in silence, aloof and standoffish, pondering whether to forgive me. The Sierra spring came along while I was away. There are honeybees, now. The volunteer apple and cherry trees are bursting with small, pink, delicate flowers. The deep blue-purple irises are open, their yellow beards glowing, and there are red-streaked, yellow tulips open in the little bed by the back door. The day is bright but chilly, the breezy sky studded with maybe-it-could-rain clouds. I have soup bubbling on the stove.
Oh, it’s good to be home.