Old Porch

The porch is almost new

But it has a warm, comfortable feel,

Like a favorite coat

Or a well-loved blanket,

So, to me, it’ll be the old porch.

I’m welcome here.

Among friends.

The sun set,

Quietly,

Radiantly,

Dipping slowly beyond the trees

As we ate good food.

The dark brought a cool evening breeze

And increasing laughter

And a few moments of companionable silence.

There have been drinks

And shared memories

And the kind of stories friends share.

Candles in copper lanterns

Shed soft, golden light.

The women are beautiful and kind,

And occasionally raunchy

And strong in the way that only mothers can be.

The men are handsome and brave.

An island of candlelight on a porch in a sea of comfortable darkness

Shows everyone at their best,

(Sometimes their worst I suppose, depending on the person)

I like to think that best is truth.

For these folks,

On this porch,

On this night,

Seeing them at I do is seeing them as they are.

At least that’s what I believe.

That’s the magic of an old porch.

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