Walking through the living room, on my way to the kitchen to make coffee this morning, I noticed he left his shoes and socks by his chair. The remnants of a late night snack were on the kitchen cabinet.
I traversed back through the darkened house, trying not to wake him, but his snoring was so loud and so deep that I knew nothing short of a tornado would stir him. I slowly and quietly closed the bathroom door and got ready for work. Luckily I had turned on the light soon enough to find the toilet seat up.
His clothes scattered on the floor in the bedroom. His papers from work piled up on the table. His bags, unpacked, set down just inside the bedroom. I'm glad he's home.
