I'm slicing with the Two Writing Teachers community today. It's always a pleasure to read what everyone writes about their lives.
Happy Summer! When walking around my neighborhood, I see great porches, and comfy furniture on them, but not one porch swing. It makes me wonder why not? And it also takes me back to memories of my childhood and those swings. My husband and I had a swing at our home, and I miss sitting there, remember good times with him, with neighbors and especially my oldest grandson, Carter.
One of my grandmothers had two. One
was on the front small porch that was rarely used; visitors always came into
the house by the side door, through the mudroom, into the kitchen. But as
that porch’s swing backed into a clematis vine on a trellis, purple skirts
blooming up and down, I could read there on summer afternoons with privacy. It was cool there, and I dragged
pillows out so I could sit sideways with my legs propped up, ready to give the swing
a small push now and then. Her other swing was glorious swinging for
kids. It was hung from a high limb on a large oak by the side of the
house, and my cousins and I managed huge arcs of swinging two on at a time,
then jumping out onto soft grass. It was a competition to see how far we
could go before we landed. Other times, I sat there more sedately with my
grandmother as we drank sweet tea late afternoons before time to start supper.
