“Malo periculosam, libertatem quam quietam servitutem.”
A warm jacket, cold beer and a god cigar.
Lower it to the ground about a foot and add a railing and you have our front porch. No snow yet. And no rockers. I find them annoying. And our beadboard ceiling is white.
I'll be right over.
You have a lovely home.
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doo-doo-doo sitting on my imaginary back porch!
Sitting on your own Front Porch is a dying art around here. From my porch, as I sip the morning coffee, I can see the porch or patio of two other houses. The older house the lady will come out to hang laundry, that's all. The new house (called the Swamp House) is the domain of two refugees from Boston's high prices and pandemic failures. They only step out to smoke a cigarette. When I wave at them while taking the barrels down to the curb, they don't wave back. Or smile. Luckily, I also have a side porch and patio. Where I can sit and watch the sun set, grill and look at the woods. No people on that side. But plenty of deer.
I was stationed at Light Station Point Robinson on Vashon island (Puget Sound) when I joined the Coast Guard in 1976. My quarters had a front porch and a rocking chair, I liked the chair.