CLEARING THE COBWEBS
I walked up the driveway, my backpack perched crookedly across my spine emitting a boozy, salt-water gust with each tentative step.
Two weeks at an all inclusive was too much; doubly so in the tropics where the hot sun and warm lapping ocean only add to the dehydrating curse of an open bar.
Still, it had been a great trip and I had returned home with some kitchy souvenirs and enough memories to last me for at least a year. Not to mention a mound of tropic scented laundry. It had been a wonderful trip for sure, but I was anxious to clear the cobwebs and settle back into my routine.
I staggered up the front stairs, the burden of my baggage tugging me gently backward with each step.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, brushing away at a cobweb as it slid silk-like across my gave and spitting at it's tickling caress on my lips.
As my eyes slowly accustomed to the gloomy interior of my house, I realized that it wasn't a single strand. The whole entrance was fillled with webs, delicate silky strands, billowing nets, and dense funnels and cones seemed to cover every surface.
It appeared that the post-trip cobwebs in my head were not the only ones I would have to clear.
I lowered my bag to the floor and reached for the broom in the corner by the door. My siesta would have to wait.
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