Back to school is hard. I feel like the children do, apprehensive and unsure. Summer is ending. The crickets are telling me so. During this transition, the place that grounds me is my porch.
When night falls, my porch is even better. Like the child who has played outside all day, I’m now under the covers, feeling deeply.
I listen to the crickets, hear the sound of a distant train whistle. I am filled with goodness, and memories. There is wood everywhere. Wood, like my cabin at summer camp many years ago. Wood and old furniture. There’s a dry sink that has been in my family for ages. It’s 200 years old. There’s a table that has been in Hubby’s family for 100 years. There’s a cabinet that my father and Hubby made together from wood that was over 200 years old.
Old means beautiful and memories and stories, and furniture that is so well made it can be on a porch. It means my family is always here. Perhaps that is why my porch grounds me.