Two unraveling green wicker chairs sit under picture window, streaked with dust after recent storm. Wide, whitewashed boards slant to the front, having settled over the past one hundred and twenty-seven years. Morning glories, purple and pink, entwine in slightly rusty, wrought iron railing.
Crisp breeze, slight scent of burning leaves whispers over bare arms. Maple leaves, gold and crimson, drift slowly down from tree. Miniature pumpkins and gourds climb back trellis, orange, green, yellow, ready to harvest. A fat Siamese cat rides the gently swaying porch swing. Geraniums, pink and salmon, last blooms of summer sit atop yellowing leaves. Geese honk overhead, V-shaped formation, heading south.
I occupy one chair, a five foot scare crow sits smiling on the other. Disabled, often home-bound, I view the world as it goes by. Seated in the green wicker chair on my front porch.