Musings on the Back Porch

I want to remember,

   to engrain upon my oft’ wayward heart:

        
        how wonderful it feels to know what song comes next

        how green the new-grass grows down the hill to the Craft Room

        how the lake mists and softens after a rainstorm

        
        where to find the switch to the new fans in the Dining Room
              (behind the new coffee-pot-door)

        where the blackberries ripen the quickest

        
        who I was, intertwined with who I am

        what it’s like to long, and to belong

I want to soak in…

        every sun-dappled morning

        dew-drop, rain drop

        golden sunset afternoon

        star-laden twilight, maples dark against the glowing sky

And if I haven’t said it

        out loud

        or enough

          
This, too, is home.