A news blip on my "Odd News from AP" widget caught my eye this morning.

"Australian cat strays 2,400 miles, returns home."

Clyde the cat went home to his original owners after three years of wandering about. One of the most interesting points of the story is that Clyde started out on Tasmania, which is an island in the ocean off Australia's south east coast. He ended up in Cloncurry a city two thousand miles into the Australian outback. If he hadn't been micro-chipped he would still be a wanderer.

As his happy owner said, "If only he could talk."

What is it about such stories that fascinate us? We are thrilled with the tale of a lost person or animal finding their way home.

Perhaps it is because we all feel a bit lost sometimes. We move around so much more than people used to because travelling is easier, so home is left far behind. It calls to us with its knowledge of our beginnings; sometimes making us long to return or sometimes causing us to keep moving further away.

Or maybe, as was popular in the 1960s and 70s, we feel we have lost ourselves. That need to find their "true self" caused many people to leave home and family, even walking out on their spouse and children, to go "find themselves". All too often the results were like Dorothy's: the realization that they hadn't lost themselves to begin with and there was no place like home. They had only become bored with who they were and what they were doing.

The stories of those who have truly been lost, stray animals or homeless people, finding their place in the world can help us see how good we have it. We get the chance to see our home, family, job or community through new eyes when we realize we could lose it all.

So, thank you Clyde. Thank you to all those who once were lost but now are found and whose stories give us hope.

See a video about Clyde here:

A Foggy Morning in Kickapoo Park

I love walking in the fog.

I go for a walk a few days a week in a local park and the fog changes so much. Part of the walk leads through open areas where the mists swirl and occasionally the sun can be seen looking like a white dinner plate in the sky with no glow of its own. The distant tree lines could be mountains as all that is there are dark masses.

Then the road enters a dimly lit tunnel of trees. Spider webs dusted with moisture festoon the oaks and white pines. Osage orange trees look ready to pounce on spindly legs, like the giant parents of the lesser spiders. The fog is no longer comforting and relaxing, but menacing, hiding unknown threats.

I round another curve and the air is lighter, the light brighter as the trees give way to another open field. And so my walk goes, forest and field, welcoming mist and foreboding gloom, until I'm back at my cozy little car, my hair curly from the dampness of my foggy day stroll.