The First Night Home

There’s no comfort without contrast

Photo by Rick J. Brown on Unsplash

The first night home

I close the door

And drop my pack

The furnace

Nudged by outside air

Awakens

Its blessed breath

Whispering relief

Not yet, not yet

My bending back protests

Still-stiff fingers loosen laces

Mud-caked boots take flight

Landing in a cloud of

Cracked clay and detritus

My feet, now free

Tender, near weightless

Throb with thanksgiving

Reveling in release

Spongy socks print footsteps

On bare boards

In mockery of thousands

Left along the trail

In the bathroom

I turn the taps

And use the toilet

As the bathtub fills

So does my heart

The time is now

I strip off clothes

Step in and sink

My battered body

Deep as it can go

In seeping heat

Amidst the steam

I grasp the truth, unvarnished:

The opposite of comfort

Is camping

©2024, Denise Shelton. All rights reserved.

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