The Smell of Home

An online friend asked me if I ever run out of things to say with my boyfriend, because we are together day and night — usually within an arms length of one another. How could we possibly run out of things to say?, I thought to myself. Life is always unfolding and ever new.

Last night near two in the morning the rain was coming down hard. Its a rare treat in Southern California so we wrapped up in a blanket went downstairs and sat in the threshold of the front door watching the night water show. The driveway storm drain was backed up a bit, so there was a few inches of water on the pavement that looked in the moonlight as if it could be the edge of a lake. The weeping birch tree in front of us would have solidified the illusion, had their not been two reindeer with flashing lights underneath its branches. Ah, Christmas in California. It may not be Norman Rockwell, but its Hollywood box office in its own right.

My man took in a deep breath and said “Ah, you can smell the worms”. Admittedly I love the fragrance of rain soaked soil, yet I never thought about the creepy crawlies that comprised the aroma. But for my redneck woodsman, the smell of the night crawlers was as familiar and cellular as mom’s apple pie. “You can make a lot of money on a night like this as a kid, if you are catching worms to sell to the bait store.” he informed me. I listened with genuine interest as he talked about the red worms of Kentucky and the size of the dew-worms that he use to see back …. east. I noticed that pregnant pause when he said back …. east. Because in his mind he was thinking “back home”. Yet, he’s mindful and present in such a way that he made a conscious and unspoken choice that here on the front porch watching the water back up in the driveway wrapped in a blanket with his arm around me .. was HOME.