there's a signpost up ahead

Tucked safely into my warm home again, out of the flailing rain, I am occupied with these thoughts: How wet my socks are, and how nice it is to own a raincoat. How oddly dogs eat, and how no matter how much we personify them, they still eat wholeheartedly like dogs. How harmonic the smells of decay and life are on the fingertips of a September wind. How a cold rain on a warm night is a perfect time for a walk, and how taking my off my hood and letting the rain soak my hair makes me smile like a kid again. How idyllic it is to pick up the cat and tuck her safely inside my raincoat, her purr muted against my chest. How the tension of muscles, even in an inquisitive cat, is a sign of vitality. How much I want to write about these things that don't matter, but do matter so much still; how they shouldn't be the last words to a chronic patient, but should nonetheless dot an invalid's life; it's these moments we savor in this life, but to end on these notes, to take them with us... no, that would be like going to Disneyland for the express purpose of reading the guidebook. These are only signs, only reminders of where we're going, of whom we're going to; and so we should repeat them to each other, for encouragement, but only till just before the end of the journey. At the end, we won't need cats wrapped in raincoats, for will see our destination with our own eyes.