Coming Home

It's 8am when I come home, the sun's warmth already chasing away the coolness of the night.
Our little dog wants to play and then calmly waits for his food, like we practice every morning.
I watch him run around the perimeter of our yard, then jump over the hastas near the gazebo before coming to the door.
After pancakes or oatmeal or sometimes ice cream, I sit on the couch and invite the little dog up with me and read of the total love of my God, a rhythm that helps me sleep.
And then, finally, I climb into our big bed and, if I am lucky, my husband is still there. I have been pretty vocal about how much i love these moments and I know that if he can, he will stay long enough for me to fall asleep.
His hand finds mine and my head finds the spot between his shoulder and neck that is made for me.
He warms me as my cold feet find his and he hold me as my body releases any left over tension from the night.
I sigh.
Sleepy. Content. Warm.
Home.