lenten journal: at home

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    I’ve only crossed the threshold a half dozen times,
    sat on a folding chair in the dining room eating
    Krispy Kreme doughnuts once and yet it feels
    more like home already than this house we’ve
    occupied since we came to town last year.

    Occupied is the right word, like an invading
    army occupies another country, or a passenger
    occupies an airplane restroom. We’ve been
    interlopers here, never once believing these
    walls were strong enough to hold our stories.

    I can stand in the empty rooms of our new home
    and tell already it is more than a one-story house.
    I can hear the conversation of friends around our
    dining table, see the vegetables coming up in the
    back yard, hear Ginger coming in the front door

    as Ella slides across the dark hardwood floors
    to greet her. And on a spring afternoon, several
    springs from now, I can see us sitting on the
    front porch, drinking sweet tea and Guinness
    respectively, as if it had always been that way.

    Peace,
    Milton

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