Coming Home

A dragonfly hovers over the white rose bush as a lone cricket begins its evening song. The cool, end of summer breeze drifts over the front porch while Ella sits at my feet. She stares out at the road, her nose twitching as she sorts out the smells in the air. A rock and some pieces of mulch lay beside her. Only minutes ago serving as chew toys, they now lay forgotten due to her always changing interests. She currently has one thing on her mind. Her mom coming home.

The setting sun softly touches the pages of my book, turning them orange. Traffic seems to pick up, and the hum of the neighbor’s air conditioning unit now drowns out the crickets. I look away from the words in my book and glance at Ella as she watches a man walking a dog down the sidewalk. He’s wearing an orange sweatshirt and carries a small Bluetooth speaker in his pocket turned up as loud as it will go. Rap music blasts throughout the neighborhood as he passes. 

As he walks behind our lone standing tree in the front yard, the music fades, and I notice a single branch has turned red with color. Leaves once full of life now wilt with the first signs of autumn. 

The sun sinks lower behind the house and shadows arc long and dark across the grass. Ella grows with a familiar restlessness knowing her mom will be home any moment. 

Finally. I smile as the Jeep slows in front of the house. It turns into the driveway, its headlights shine onto the porch and Ella’s tail begins to slice the air with pure excitement. An amount of excitement I’m pretty convinced no human has ever experienced. She stands up. Her tail begins to spin in circles, faster, like a helicopter taking off from its pad. You can hear a door slam, muffled by the walls of the garage. Ella’s mom is home from work. 

As soon as Erica rounds the corner of the garage, Ella can no longer contain herself, and she sprints off the porch and down the walkway to say hello. Erica bends down, her face slathered with puppy kisses. 

Usually we can point to our mouth, tell Ella, “kiss,” and she will give a quick lick of acknowledgement, but when her mom gets home, there is no stopping the rush. 

After a minute of kisses, petting, and more tail wags, Ella bolts out into the yard and runs in a handful of circles. Erica joins in and they chase each other, only stopping to flash a quick smile for the camera. A smile that says it all. I am happy you are my mom, and I am happy you are home. 

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A Letter to My Wife on Valentine’s Day

I have the privilege of turning thirty this year. I’m not excited about it by any means, but it’s inevitable. My wife turns twenty-two, however, we joke that she’s the older one of the relationship. Her knees are going bad, her eyesight turning more blurry. Even on our honeymoon, one night at dinner, I must have looked the younger one as I was carded by the waitress and she wasn’t. On the plus side, I wouldn’t rather fall apart and grow old with anyone else, and I wouldn’t rather be anywhere but with her on our first Valentine’s Day as husband and wife. We will always keep each other young at heart. 


My Wife, My Love,

          You are one in a million. More so even than that. You are one among all stories of lives written in the history of the world, and I get to be the fortunate soul married to you. Imagine that. Me, married to someone like you, getting to celebrate the most romantic day of the year. Who am I to be so blessed?

          Your vintage and mature individuality challenges me on a daily basis. Pushing me to be better, to strive for perfection in all I do, especially when it comes to loving you. Because you deserve nothing less.

          There is no one else comparable to you. From your wholehearted honesty to the quick wit that helps keep me on my toes. When I was younger, I sometimes tried to imagine the type of girl I’d marry, and tried to imagine how great of a life it’d be to share with someone. You by far surpass all I’d ever hoped for in a wife – and a friend – to share each day with. You are someone my brain did not even have the capacity of dreaming up. Your beauty on the outside rivals the same beauty found within you. It’s as if the last flash of light from each sunset as the sun sinks below the horizon was somehow bottled up and used in creating that unique shine in your personality. Or perhaps God already decided on creating you, and after seeing your alluring existence, you became the influence in His creating the sunsets we sit and watch together. At least that’s what I like to think.

          I love you, today, always. Every bit of who you are. Every smile, every laugh, every little wrinkle found in the corners of the two most beautiful eyes I’ve ever looked into. I love you because you’re you. And I hope that as the years pass, you will always know how strong that love for you is. Being in love with you will never grow old as I will only grow old loving you. 

                                           Always Yours,

                                           Dustin