Sitting on my Porch

(This is not my house...)

As I sit here on my porch in the warmth of a summer afternoon, I am whisked away to a different place by the sounds and smells. Closing my eyes, I hear the steady stream of water from the country fountain on my porch. The whiskey barrel and old fashioned hand pump fountain remind me of simpler times. I hear the summer breeze blowing through the curly willow in my front yard. The leaves making music to my ears. I pick up the tinkling of the wind chimes I have collected, softly moving with the breeze. The damp earth and fresh cut grass fill my head with their intoxicating smells mixed with just the faintest scent of horses romping in the fields down the road. With my eyes closed, I might think I am sitting on the porch of an old country farm house breathing in the freshness of country living. A place where you dream, breathe and just be. The sound of a car passing by brings me out of the revelry of my own thoughts. Reluctantly I rise from my creaky, rattan chair returning to the house and the incessant sound of the blaring television.