She is not grand -
humble proportions and peeling paint
It would not be home without her aging arms
welcoming us as we make our way up the sidewalk
soft light gleaming in the darkness
She graciously invites me to sit in her welcoming presence
an audience to the grand entertainment of life
that graces her surroundings;
Quieting my spirit - tuning my ears to birdsong;
focusing my eyes on the beauty I miss in my busyness.
She sits silently as the pages of books turn;
and the pen works its way over worn journals.
She listens to the echo of a little girl's voice
playing make believe.
Remembers the gray and white kitty
who slept trustingly perched on her railing.
She watches tenderly
when eyes close in weariness
And I sleep in the peaceful silence
that surrounds her.
This is the porch of the house we lived in for thirty years before we moved into our present house. We have a porch here too. I do love porches.