The Porch

There are some Summer evenings when ending the laughter and squeals of my children by beginning the bedtime regime -- is just too much. It is these nuggets of time that I know are fleeting.

After receiving the news that one of my Dad's childhood friends had passed away, I went up and retrieved Schuyler from his bed (he was still talking and singing to himself and his "tiger guy"), and put him in his stroller. Sam and Millie climbed off the neighbor's tramp, hopped on their scooter and bike, and joined me. Zach had been hard at his karate work for hours, but he insisted on walking with me. He said he thought I could use the company.

The wind was cool. My children surrounded me --circling in front and behind again and again. I walked briskly and breathed in the smell of rain. The sky was growing thick and lovely. I could not bring myself to go in. I sat in my red rocker that Star had painted for me. Millie brought out her blanket and filled my lap. Sam came out with a bag of grapes, and Schuyler ran back and forth laughing and yelling.

The porch became our home for a bit as we watched for the light in the bishop's office across the street to go dark. We sang nursery rhymes and primary songs as the rain began in earnest.

Porches and children, red rocking chairs and blankets --I am a pensive, but lucky girl.