Notes from the porch

I am sitting on the porch after satisfying my eat-food-now-or-die hunger, basking in the late afternoon sun that is about to sink behind the grain bins. The trees have started to change from their middle of the winter naked into their hint of spring naked, tiny buds silhouetted against blue sky. My thoughts are mulling over the past few weeks and anticipating life back home. I forgot how to be small town...small village. This song of birds and trains and neighborhood kids and dogs and gravel under tires is the sound track to my childhood. And I close my eyes and remember what it was like to be living in the here and now joy of growing up.

I am enchanted by the sideways sun of sunset. The sun that makes long shadows and makes everything look a little different, softer. Not like the middle of the day sun that comes boldly glaring and revealing and imposing. This setting sun seems like it creates a haze of magic before the moon takes over and bids me goodnight. It's this sun that we would burst through the door to revel in after supper, hoping to somehow soak it all in before bedtime. Our feet would kick up the dust at the basket ball hoop or trace trails through the worn earth under our favorite swing tree. Now my toes curl together in my shoes, not quite accustomed to the chill that March still brings. 

I will miss the big starlit sky, unhindered by the brightness of metropolis. Out here the coyotes still feel free to sing their eerie song by moonlight. As the sun begins to disappear, I wrap myself in a blanket so that I can close my eyes and remember a little longer.