Tonight, I fixed my supper and ate it on our back porch to watch the thunderstorm. I sat there, in our screened in porch, looking out across the yard. Our humble little garden was drinking the water like Jackson eats his food; voraciously. I looked at our hard work and couldn’t help but to smile. Not because of a grandiose ego because of the fruition of our hard labor; no. What I saw through the night’s blanket of darkness, through the flashes of sporadic bolts of light, and through the much desired rain was happiness. I saw pure bliss at its finest.
Like a knee-jerk reaction, a rod of lightning snapped me back to another porch, another time when bliss was about as abundant as water in the Mohave. My nose pressed up against the glass of the screen door, the sky gray and humble. The clock just wouldn’t boil quickly as I wanted it to; the seconds seemed like hours on end. Everyone had a Princess on their minds, I, an Angel. Both candles burned out, long before their legends ever will. I painfully ached for her homecoming; she was my last rock. My saving grace in that time of despair, but then again, most grandmothers are.
The world didn’t stop for my broken heart then, and hasn’t as of yet. The tides came and went, and I soon found myself on yet another porch facing the lake I grew up on during the summer times. I was always captivated by the water. It represented the mystery of what was beyond the porch, beyond my parents. I resided in a world rich in fantasy, as do all teenagers, carefully planning out my days as a step ford wife to prince charming and avid world traveler. That water is what I yearned to immerse myself in, yet I feared it as a mouse fears a snake. It was my future, the unknown.
Just as sudden as that bolt from the blue, a cold wet nose touches my heel and I am brought back to my own porch. What I see is my wife eating her supper beside me, one little furry critter asking me to pick him up, and the other critter begging for food when he knows he’s not supposed to. Yes. Yes, this is my porch; my bliss.
Like a knee-jerk reaction, a rod of lightning snapped me back to another porch, another time when bliss was about as abundant as water in the Mohave. My nose pressed up against the glass of the screen door, the sky gray and humble. The clock just wouldn’t boil quickly as I wanted it to; the seconds seemed like hours on end. Everyone had a Princess on their minds, I, an Angel. Both candles burned out, long before their legends ever will. I painfully ached for her homecoming; she was my last rock. My saving grace in that time of despair, but then again, most grandmothers are.
The world didn’t stop for my broken heart then, and hasn’t as of yet. The tides came and went, and I soon found myself on yet another porch facing the lake I grew up on during the summer times. I was always captivated by the water. It represented the mystery of what was beyond the porch, beyond my parents. I resided in a world rich in fantasy, as do all teenagers, carefully planning out my days as a step ford wife to prince charming and avid world traveler. That water is what I yearned to immerse myself in, yet I feared it as a mouse fears a snake. It was my future, the unknown.
Just as sudden as that bolt from the blue, a cold wet nose touches my heel and I am brought back to my own porch. What I see is my wife eating her supper beside me, one little furry critter asking me to pick him up, and the other critter begging for food when he knows he’s not supposed to. Yes. Yes, this is my porch; my bliss.
