The Porch Remembers

I saw my neighbor painting a rail going up to her porch. And for a second there, I couldn’t see her at all.

All I could see was the man who used to live there. He moved away last year.

He was gregarious, the kind who would sweep his walk like it was sacred. He would wave at every car, ask you how your mother was doing, even if he had never met her.

Now it is someone else’s porch. Same address, new name on the mailbox.

And it seems that we are lucky. The new folks seem kind. They seem to care.

But it hit me. We are just occupants.

In our houses, we will leave our imprint, sure. But the house, the porch, the sidewalk — those remain.

We think of our homes as shelter, but they are more than that. They are witnesses. They watch us come and go, grow up and grow old.

The porch remembers. The sidewalk remembers.

And memories, well, if they could talk, they would be everywhere.

So, what do you think? What story would your porch tell if it could talk?

Let me know in the comments, and check out more at jamesabrown.net.

On that note, I’m James A. Brown, and as always, be well.