Bare feet, food to eat, who could ask for anything more?

Just over four hours.

That's how long it took me to get home today. Miles upon miles of hot, sticky, freeway pavement and cars as far as the eye could see. The speedometer needle, at times, looked feeble and discouraged as it barely lifted itself over the number 20 on my dashboard. I stared at the back of the car in front of me from one city to the next; so much so, I memorized the license plate. But alas, the salt air finally tickled my nose, and through the smoky haze, I saw the ferry.

I was going home.

It was like releasing a big, deep breath the second I drove off the ferry. My destination was simple as I headed to Langley, finally able to let my car hum along at 50 miles an hour. It responded in kind as I pressed the gas pedal, as if it, too, were happy to be stretching it's legs after a slow hike home. Green trees met gray sky, and I was reminded that the Pacific Northwest was a smoky mess right now, due in part to massive fires in British Columbia, Canada. What should be Camano Island as I rounded the bend in Langley was nothing but a monochromatic, pale curtain with a faint outline of land across Saratoga Passage.

I found a corner parking spot in front of the Good Cheer thrift store, then walked across the street to the food truck to grab a bite to eat for Alexa. It was there I saw a friend who serves up a killer Americano every morning at my favorite coffee shop. She, too, had the same idea for dinner. After saying hi, I took in the sounds of the town, but the smells were absent, replaced by thick, hot, heavy air.

As I waited for the food, I undid the straps of my Chacos, slid my feet out one by one, then grabbed them from the sidewalk. I wanted to feel the world beneath my feet, so I went barefoot. Dancing around rocks and bird poop, I walked back and forth and enjoyed the feeling of grass between my toes just as much as the heat from the sidewalk. My name finally called and dinner in hand, I headed back to the car, but not before stopping at one of the planters in town to take in the colors and laugh at my Chaco lines.

A local chef walking by saw me with my sandals in one hand and food in the other. He bellowed, "You have shoes and dinner. You're a lucky man!"

"You know it!" I yelled back. "I just spent four hours on the freeway and ferry, and I'm ready to be done for the day!"

"Well, welcome back home," he said as he walked off toward First Street. 

Yep, I'm home. And I'm thankful.