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I’d always wanted a back porch. A place to sit and relax in the morning sun listening to the birds greeting the new day or at dusk when the trees become silhouettes on the evening sky.

A place that’s just a little cooler where I can place just-baked pies, cakes, and cookies to cool. Or put the turkey and ham to make room on the counters during holiday feasts.

Remembering from my childhood the sound of the screen door slamming shut or the permanent squeak of the hinges on opening and closing. (An easy fix that was never done—Was that on purpose? Who wants a screen door that doesn’t talk to you?)

The back porch. A place to ease into the confines of the house from the open out-of-doors. Likewise, a place of transition from the safety of those cozy surroundings furnished with all things familiar and treasured to the wide open world of a new day and all the unknowns that lie ahead.

Now I have a back porch—or at least I will when we move back into our restored home. It’s not exactly like the back porch I’ve known and loved before. And we actually call it a sun room. But it will serve much the same purpose: a sitting place, a transitional place, set apart from the usual living spaces of the house, yet somehow integral to the life of the house.

Current reality merging with fond childhood memories or from the first house Walt and I shared as we began our lives together. And hope for the joy of future days. Imagining morning coffee, afternoon tea, and evening wine. A place of beginnings and ends—NO technology allowed—only the sounds of nature and conversation. Or quiet reflection.

The back porch is what I loved about the house on first visit. In the few weeks we were living there, I had great satisfaction in displaying my collection of old plates, baking pans, canisters, and other treasures from family. It held the stamp of our identity and history.

Now a new one is being built in its place—bigger and improved—and I’ll be able to make it ours even more so with colors and furnishings of our choosing.

Full of light from all directions, grounded in what was and what will be, a daily reminder of cherished memories and eternal hope.

Please, come sit with me on the porch.

Click here for the poem that prompted this writing.

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