Wherein I Stalk Porches

I was in Wisconsin yesterday. I dropped by a small local town and was captured by the variety of porches on the homes in the ‘old’ part. In the newer areas, there were no porches, only entries and decks.

Porches say something to me. “Hi. Stop by, sit a spell, drink lemonade and gossip about the neighbors.” I love to see how people decorate these graceful social areas.

These people went a little overboard. 🙂 

Nice. Welcoming. A wonderful place to pass the heat of the day. But what’s up with the water jugs along the railing?

Eccentric. The butterfly herd is a nice touch.

Beautiful! Love the tiered flower beds. I could see myself spending an afternoon here with one or two good friends while we lazily contemplated a long dinner out back under the trees.

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About Fenraven

Fenraven happily lives in south Florida, where it is really hot most of the year. Find him on Twitter, Google +, and Facebook by searching on 'fenraven'.
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4 Responses to Wherein I Stalk Porches

  1. W. Lotus says:

    I like long porches, preferably wrap-around. I hope to some day own a house with one.

  2. AJ Rose says:

    When I was a kid, my sixth grade best friend Becky, who’d moved away after only one year, came back to visit her family, who were cool about our friendship and didn’t care if we had sleepovers. Neither her parents or mine seemed worried about it.

    But by then, we were both thirteen and I guess Becky was aware of herself. She’d always been pretty and the other guys in our class made a point of chasing her. Anyway, she always told me she appreciated my friendship because I never tried to hit on her. (Already, at thirteen, she was tired of the cheesy come-ons. Sad reality.)

    That visit, however, we were sleeping over at her grandparents’ house, and they had this porch, but it was off the back of their house, but not the front. Anyway, Becky was acting weird all day and she talked me into sneaking out to the backyard after everybody was in bed, and the weirdness kicked up a notch. She started doing handstands in the yard so her pajama shirt would ride up, and she told me she thought she was ready to mess around with a guy. It wasn’t until she literally fell in my lap and rubbed up against me that I realized she meant me.

    I knew that night that I was gay. Thanks to the magic of a porch and a girl who felt safe with me.

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