early morning coffee-drinking porch moments:
of all the things I’ll miss when our little family leaves this tiny, happy home, the long stretch of porch with its chipping grey paint and mismatched chairs will be what I miss most.
long ago it was here that a man first told me he loved me; it’s been the stage for late-night heart sessions, where life’s problems were ironed out with the hot, smooth edges of conversation; it’s been our refuge from the monotony of television or computers—though on occasion, it’s been a mobile office, too.
this porch used to collect the fatigued ash of cigarettes, but now, water guns and empty coffee cups.
I’ve witnessed a certain kind of evolution here on this beaten porch, how our family has blossomed; how my relationship has overcome so much—how we’ve loved and admired and challenged and supported each other, and oh, how we’ve laughed.
but of all the change this space has seen and nurtured, it has been me that’s transformed most of all. to a woman who howls fiercely to the moon, who sits in honest peace with the morning songbirds, who grows stronger and braver every single day, whose heart has guided her to her moment of truth, in which she proclaims to the open air: let the empire building begin.
—this post was grown on the gram.