There’s nothing special about it at all. Sometimes it squeaks. Sometimes it houses wasps and hornets. Several times It’s even crashed to the porch with me on it! Yet, the old, country swing, with its rusty chains and layers of paint, holds a treasure chest of memories.
It’s where I take my morning coffee, where I sit and listen to the birds, and where Imeditate. It’s where I talk to God, laugh and cry, and reminisce.
But, my fondest memories are swinging with my grandchildren, talking and laughing, and pretending to sour high above the clouds on Mrs. Eagle’s feathered back. Then at night we’d listen to the frogs, and watch fireflies.
My oldest grandchild, Brandon, who was in junior high at the time, wrote me this beautiful poem, On the Front Porch, Swingin’. I thank God for reminding me how important it is to spend time with my grandchildren, and how fast they grow up.
On the Front Porch, Swingin’
As the sky starts dropping liquid beats,
The door, it creaks, and opens to the world.
Grandma’s rejoicing as Grandson’s voicing,
“Let’s go out and listen for a bit,
Before it quits. I hear it dyin’ down,”
The boy, he beckons.
“You’re right, I reckon.”
Cause one of these days Grandson’s gonna be a man,
So she’s gotta cherish moments while she still can.
Taking hold of the boy’s hand,
the two go out together on the front porch, swingin’.
“Dee Dee, can you tell me a story? Dee Dee, will you rub my back?”
And, “Dee Dee can you breathe real easy
while I lay my head on your lap?”
“Brandon, can you hear my heart singin’
In the midst of this thunderstorm show’r?”
Together on the front porch, swingin’.
“Let’s stay for another hour.”