I live at the top of a hill, on a cul-de-sac that sounds fancier than it is. It’s quiet up here, which is perfect, because I’ve reached the point in life where I actively enjoy things like wind chimes and watching squirrels argue in the bushes.
My front porch is where most of this appreciation happens. Two Amish rockers, a little table, and three flower pots that try their best depending on the season. The setup hasn’t changed much in years, but somehow, it’s never looked the same twice.
In spring, it smells like potting soil and hope. In summer, it’s all coffee and birdsong. Fall brings crunchy leaves and a breeze that insists you wear a sweater even if you’re not ready. And winter? It turns everything into a snow globe, which is lovely unless you have somewhere to be.
Mornings are my favorite. The light is soft, the coffee’s hot, and no one expects anything from me yet. I sit, I rock, I listen just for a little while, before heading into the studio to see what the day wants to become.
This porch has seen a lot... trick-or-treaters, Amazon deliveries, hosted deep conversations, housed drying herbs, and more cups of tea than I can count.
And somehow, no matter what’s going on, it always brings me back to myself.
So here’s to porches. And quiet. And beauty that doesn’t try too hard. I’m convinced the world would be a kinder place if we all spent a little more time watching the sun rise from a squeaky rocking chair.