The porch

When we moved to our new house in August, I became quickly enamored with our front porch. There is a tremendous delight in being able to sit outside in the cooling last nights of summer, listening to the cacophony of competing cicadas, their calls bouncing from tree to tree back and forth through the neighborhood. I was never afforded that luxury where we lived prior; living in a larger city before this, we did have a side porch, but the view was a dirty alley and some dilapidated garages. My new view was rows of green trees, and cute little houses up and down the main road.

The porch itself is small, but there is enough room for our blue, round plastic table. You can choose to sit on three plastic chairs the colors of green, red, or yellow, all custom painted by my wife, who would not let them remain their original color of white. No, we need color! Atop the table usually sits a rather large citronella candle that never really keeps the mosquitoes away but when the sun goes down gives off a pleasant, yellow-amber glow. Fire can be dangerous, of course, but a candle has always been soothing to me.

To my left is a brick wall that reaches up my waist when standing, but when sitting is the perfect height for giving your beer glass a rest. What better refreshment than a cold glass of beer? Hemingway got something right, at least. To my right, I can see the neighbor’s porch, and I could step right off the porch into the dirt (not much grass) if I so desired; there is no wall, just a small jump down into the soil. Terracotta flower pots are buried up to their rims around the edge of the porch, stopping when reaching the sloping cement walkway that leads either to the sidewalk, or back up to our summer hangout. Depending on the season, there could be mums in those pots; gold, maroon, purple, they add some more color to offset the dullness of the cement foundation.

Of course, there is a porch light if we ever wanted to use it, but we prefer to sit by candlelight, or moonlight, if it’s bright enough. The purpose of a porch is to watch, not be watched. It’s a place to relax, share moments of your day with family and friends, discuss current events, or just sit and listen to the language of the cicadas, under a lush green umbrella of trees. Once fall, and especially winter arrive, the umbrella turns to bony fingers; the trees have been stripped of all their foliage, the cicadas have gone away, and it is much too cold to sit out there. So we sit inside our living room, counting down the days until summer, when we can return to our little front porch.

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bluesunchasing

Just a guy writing about how depression sucks.

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