My front porch is my sanctuary. It is not one of those grand, wraparound numbers you see in magazines, furnished with old wicker, handhooked rugs, and tables set for tea. Mine is quite plain and relatively small, furnished only with a couple of old benches, a table, and two garden chairs. The sandblasted concrete floor (an unopened can of grey porch paint is still in the shed) feels cool under my bare feet. At the far end, where I sit, a lattice panel is interwoven with a thick, heavy vine of Confederate Jasmine.I have been known to spend hours ~ once even, an entire day ~ sitting on my front porch. There, I can breathe, relax, be still and see. I study woodpeckers, mockingbirds, and doves as they travel from tree to tree or wire to wire. I follow closely with my eyes the flight of a butterfly, wondering to myself just where she has been and where she is going. Does she know where the tastiest windowboxes in town are? Has she visited my yard because she senses my love of nature, or because she feels safe here?
Much is written these days about our "return" to the front porch. We have learned the history of its social evolution, and why the porch is once again regaining popularity as a meeting and gathering place for family and friends. Not for me! I want to be alone there, absent people and conversation.
Sanctuary ~ a place of refuge and protection. Alone on my front porch, I have found refuge in my solitude, and protection is seeing nature cared for by the Almighty. Indeed, his eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
