The View from the Porch

It was such a beautiful morning, albeit a little muggy, that I decided to blog on the porch.

The thought of sitting in the office with an artificial light on and the fan blowing on me did not appeal. From here I can hear the birds -- as well as an airplane, the Rapid, an ambulance and a whole host of traffic. The only sound I miss is my wind chimes (there's not a breeze to be had).

My decision to move my gig outdoors came about when I looked out the window and saw a bunny -- a big, chubby, bunny. I guess I wouldn't be so admiring if he/she was chomping on my garden. Fortunately, I don't have a garden. But I did have a few carrots, so I tossed them into the yard. Even bunnies need a treat, right?

When the day gets wound up, I'm guessing it will be a scorcher. For now, it's just good to be hanging on the porch.

It's amazing how a simple change of venue can change your perspective. You get used to looking at things a certain way, and then the view changes. Or you change.

I had a dentist appointment this week, so I took the opportunity to drive by the house I grew up in. I shouldn't have. My street used to have tens of towering maple trees, their leaves forming a lovely canopy in the summer, cooling us as we played or rode our bikes down the street. Most of the trees are gone now. Left are the rows of little box houses, looking a little forlorn. My parents' house looked tad shabby. I heard from a neighbor that they tore out all of my mom's flowers. The lawn looks like the Serengeti. The only good thing is that the magnolia tree still stands.

Maybe you can't go home again.

Or maybe it's best to just visit in your mind. There I can run and play tag and kick the can and zoom along on my bike with the baseball card stuck in the spokes to make that clickety-clack noise. On rainy days, we could play board games in the garage and roller skate on its slate surface. And sometimes, when I got a little older. we would walk up to the school, my brother to play baseball with his friends and me to read under a tree.

Someday I know my perception of this house will change. Maybe I will ride by in the car and wonder what it looks like inside, how they've made it their own.

And just maybe I'll remember the warm summer morning when I sat on the porch with my coffee and my computer and marked this moment in time.