A Front Porch Memory
I recall our front porch in Michigan. Blue house, sitting on a quiet side street of my hometown. Yellow light fixture above the right side of the door (as you were facing it). Mom put some wicker furniture out there. I wasn't much fond of wicker, but Mom was, and I have to admit it was a good place to sit on warm summer nights. We eventually had a swing on the side where John lived, and it faced up the hill. Nothing interesting to see there, but that's not really why we'd sit on that swing anyway. My first time on that porch was the evening we were moving in. Dusk settled quietly over the neighborhood and Mom and I were just getting to the front door. I don't know what we were doing, but after months in a camper and some weeks in a rented house, a home was a welcome change. I was, as usual, nervous about being in a new place, a new town, new people. The weather that night was crisp, but not cold. It was fall, after all. The sky was clear, and the stars shone like diamon
