Theme Week #6

As I opened the door, the fresh air enveloped me, welcoming me, pulling me out the door.  As I stepped outside, the concrete was cool and surprisingly pleasant beneath my feet.  Stretched before me was a vista of trees, plants, and wildlife - the porch I was standing on was the sideline to this playing field of squirrels and birds.  The white columns to either side of the small steps down framed the scene as perfectly as any photographer.  I walked quietly over to the end of the porch, navagating as smoothly as I could to avoid spilling my coffee.  I skirted around the dog sculpture sitting near the first chair.  Many a time had I tripped over the oddly shaped arms and legs, sticking out at strange and random angles.  Certainly that must have been its only purpose, since it really only appeared to be an ugly, odd-ball, colored stack of metal straps and pieces - with dog ears and a tail.  I moved valiantly onward, safely past the dog.

My favorite chair was sitting near the end of the porch.  In the morning light, I could see that a couple of leaves had blown onto the weathered cushion.  The fading floral print contrasted nicely with the bright orange and yellow leaves.  The chair itself was an old one.  No doubt a yard sale find, refurbished and repainted to be brought back to life, and perched here on the porch to invite someone, such as myself, to sit and enjoy a morning cup of coffee.  It was some neutral color - tan or beige or perhaps faded white - nothing bright or gaudy like the neighboring dog or the overstuffed cushion.  The wicker had broken loose in a few places and stuck out, ready to grab hold of a sleeve or strand of hair if the oppertunity presented itself.  You could tell that it was well loved regardless, the paint was worn thin on the wide arms to show the darker color of the original wicker beneath.  I brushed the leaves off of the seat, and looked carefully at the spider who was scurrying across the concrete floor near the legs of the chair.  It continued safely past the chair and off the side of the porch into the bushes, not showing any sign of coming back and crawling up my own leg.  The crinkling sound of the cushion and the creak of the wicker adjusting to my weight was lost in the chorus of birdcalls echoing across the yard. 

Sipping my coffee I spied two blue jays chattering to each other, and the world, over their birdfeeder breakfast.  A cardinal swooped in, rousing the jays to fly off to the nearby tree to finish their conversation.  Small brown birds, swallows perhaps, darted here and there through the branches of the trees.  Stopping for a moment at the feeder when the larger birds had flown away, then off to the bird bath for a drink, and then off again to another branch - all the while chirping and singing their own little song.  A brave squirrel raced across the fallen leaves, trying once again, to scurry up the pole to the feeder.  After an unsuccessful attempt or two, it relented and satisfied itself with the fallen seeds along the ground, then scurried back to the trees to chatter back at the birds.  The chorus of nature echoed around me - no cars zooming by, no people talking - just the breeze blowing through the leaves of the tress, creating the background to the small performers on their stage.