At dusk

I like the concept of home, or coming home. On this busy season of celebration and daily work, I relish quiet moments of rest. I'm grateful if I make it home before dark. 

Paul greets me by rushing out of the gate as soon as I park the car in the garage. He relishes the short-lived freedom in the street, but I believe we have sufficiently influenced him to be a homebody because, after 10 minutes of the outside world, he would come inside. He'd be panting, waiting for a belly rub, expectantly waiting to be near my presence. We don't deserve our dogs, but God gave them to us anyway.

Nanay's plants are blooming at this time of year. They thrive under the tropical sun, which we have no shortage of. For some reason I remember an airport staff in Prague during winter. She asked me where I was headed. "The Philippines, where it's hot." She said to me, "Good for you," clearly envious. 

It had just rained. The leaves were moist and happy. 

Paul takes a certain liking to the camera. He avoids getting his photos taken, but he looks at me with curiosity. 

The flowers fall. Tomorrow, as is the habit of homeowners here, the dried leaves and flowers will be swept away. 

Books are plenty in the house. Here are some books in the living room. Nanay tells us we should stop buying books, for where should we store them in our limited space? She says, "Daw library na ang balay ta."



Manong asks me to take photos of his cookies. 

I often tell him that we should sell these at thrice the price and market them as cures for cancer.