. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Friday, January 20, 2012

porch

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The porch ran the width of the big yellow house down the hill. It served as launching pad for superheroes and for private conversations overheard. Yes, it was me, the eavesdropper-detective. I was also the superhero to follow my brother's flight off the edge - I could so do whatever he could! - only to fall flat on my face and lose my first set of teeth.

My childhood would be an incomplete story without the memory of hot summer nights on the big front porch, watching passersby, and the moon, and the colour of dreams as they developed. The porch also served as safe-haven of a sort, the place between where sad, angry people lived, and the world yet full of hope.
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