This is where I sit. I’m in the same spot. The same spot on the same porch where I sat with my grandfather as a child, careful with my manners, my words and my position in the chair. The same spot on the same porch where I curled into my fiancé dreaming of a broad future that would include children, adventures, this house. The same spot on the same porch where each of my children crawled amidst a sea of antique toys and snacked on flaked chips of lead paint–probably far too many for me to fully appreciate. From this porch I’ve watched horses gallop, deer jump, sheep mate, dogs frolic and three generations of family kick soccer balls, shoot rockets and fly kites. Together. I’ve seen countless storms advance and recede. I have etched an awe-filled memory of my 6 year old daughter twirling in a torrential downpour, arms outstretched, arched back, face to the heavens and squealing with glee just 3 days before she herself made that trip to the sky. I have sat on this porch so gutted and broken that all I could do was steep in the ache. The breeze shifts and snippets of conversations waft through. I recognize the voices but not the words. The sheep are grazing. I hear them pulling up the grass by the roots and grinding it with their teeth. A tractor growls in the distance. The birds cheer the day with their morning songs. On the glass table in front of me a fresh cup of coffee throws off steam. This is where I sit and I live and I love.
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