The Magic of Our Back Porch View

I've notice on this blog that we tell you a great deal about the adventures of my dear cousin and myself, sometimes accompanied by Chelsae. We've been all over the world, from Nashville to Ireland, Torronto to the Beach and back. And when we're not regaling these escapades, we're telling you about the various antics which happen on a seemingly daily basis here at The Station. 

It's true, we live some particularly awesome lives, but the in-betweens, our merely-hinted-at moments of repose, should be noted and that is what I'm going to do here. Why? Because while dangling from cliffs and battling carnivorous potatoes is exciting and can certainly build character, the moments I pocket in my denim memory are the quiet ones when we're just sitting. Those moments when you're pleasantly aware of the air entering and exiting your lungs, and you breathe it like a slow dance. And where do these moments take place?

Oh, have we not told you about our porch?

At the back of the Station, on the second floor and with its very own secret door, there is a porch outside, overlooking a green expanse of forgotten fields. The railing is such that we can sit on the floor and have a clear view of the field through its oaken spokes. We sit with our backs against the Station wall and gaze out in peaceful wonder. We've used the fields before to play games, show horses, and wage wars, but it somehow looks different from the porch, as if looking down upon it reveals something ancient and magical about the fiords. So, we just observe and enjoy. Sometimes Hannah smokes her pipe, sometimes I smoke mine. 

I'm sorry it's not a story this time, but porches rarely are. They're just great places to sit, and we have an especially exceptional one in our little world. You should come try it out sometime. Maybe you'll have a quiet moment of your own.