notes from the back porch

Late June arrived before anyone realized, and the summer heat had begun to linger over the town. The trees sway along to the melody of the rusted wind chime and birdsong, which echo across the acres of space, occupied only by the wild. Golden light trickles across the splintered wood that sits beneath my feet. I take in the crisp, sweet smell of the freshly trimmed grass that was recently bathed in last night’s shower and finally take my seat in the rocking chair that has been calling to me through its gentle creaks.

It has been a year since I was here last, and ten since I called it home. I arrived with an itinerary – a million touristy things to do in just a week. Yet now, as I sit here in the midst of Mother Nature and her children, I feel fulfilled. Everything I had thought I wanted to do, wanted to see, suddenly flew out the window faster than it came to mind. Instead, I found myself hypnotized by the beautiful simplicity of the space that surrounded me. 

Hummingbirds darting around, their wings buzzing like a bee, yearning for a taste of the sweet sugar water that dangles from the ceiling. Wasps rise from beneath, through the cracks between the wooden panels, as they forage, preparing for an expanding colony. An elder tabby cat utters a soft purr as it gently roams the platform, finding comfort in the outdoors. The screen door slams shut as the earth begs me to stay just a minute longer.

Maybe this place – this place where life slows down, where everything happens when nothing happens, where the earth sings to you, and where the wind grabs you and hugs you tight – is where I belong. 

I look out over the field, where the mama birds are flying home to their babies, who are patiently waiting in the tall grass, and the yellow-legged bees drift towards their hives that line the forest, and I rise from my seat. The floorboards squeak as I approach the door, each one saying goodbye to me as I step away. I am left with little kisses from the sun across my face, leaving me with something to remember this moment and all of the little things with it.