The porch is a good place to sit
and take in the rest of the farm.
Mail comes when it comes,
and if I sit here, I know when
to walk down the driveway and retrieve
the junk and what I imagine are rare
precious posts--perhaps less rare here
in such a friendly corner of the world.
The wind is cool, just right
on a day when, if I step off the porch
into the sunlight, I'm a little too warm
for comfort. The leaves are singing,
the sky is lazy, the trees are wearing
shadowy skirts that brush the grass
a darker shade of lovely.