Oldest brother took the second raccoon off to the farm this afternoon. Must have been a young raccoon ‘cause when I walked over to move the cage out of the rain this morning, it just uncurled and looked at me and went back to sleep. I knew I had caught another one when I heard Bootsie doing her yard dog critter barks late last night. Oldest brother’s friend has a raccoon at her house now, so once I catch a few more, I’m lending the cage to her. I know there are at least three raccoons here because I’ve seen them together on the back deck. After I catch the third one, I’ll set the trap a few more days before I give up. Haven’t caught the old one I call “Grandpaw” yet. He probably won’t be docile in the cage if he gets trapped.

Today was another overcast day but beautiful in the layers of clouds that moved across the sky canvas. I watched a thin smoky gray layer float quickly across the horizon, thinking again of Father Sky smoking a Havana cigar. I could almost smell the smoky, sweet tobacco. Made me wonder what books might be on the shelves in his library. The other cloud layers were not traveling very much, being lazy, occasionally breaking apart, letting me see layers of white and vanilla clouds, dark purple rain clouds, and a little patch of turquoise sky where the sunshine was peaking through. I watched the clouds from the swing and waited for the pageant of sunset begin.

Didn’t think Mother Nature could paint through the thick cloud cover of vanilla but she managed to find a few breaks in the clouds to color a few spots near the horizon in watercolor strokes of watermelon pink. Some of the high clouds took a few brush strokes in light peach but quickly were covered by dark heavy rain clouds rushing in from the west.

The pageant of sunset took place behind an overcast stage under a thick cloud cover. The sun’s gown was not to be seen, either, but I could imagine her dressed in an apricot gown of silk and sequins, escorted down the horizon by Father Sky. Father Sky kissed the sun’s cheek as she turned off the day’s light and hurried off the wake the moon and stars. His duties done for the night, he could relax and have another cigar. Smile!

Sometimes I think the delicate light of twilight is the most beautiful part of the day. The romance of the day’s light getting dim and ethereal. The birds roosting in the trees, talking quietly as the dark creeps softly into the yard, where the bird feeders hang with empty posts, quietly swinging from the cardinals quick leavings. A stillness comes over the daylight’s end, the darkness wakes, and the night noises come alive as the moon and stars light up the heavens. I love to sit on the swing as the night wakes in its black velvet darkness.

Heard a great quote from a movie this afternoon. “Life is ten percent of what happens and 90% of how you react to it.” Sometimes we do get riled up and let little things drive us crazy, making mountains out of mole hills. We overreact to a challenge in our lives, blowing it out of proportion, jumping to conclusions. Lots of things we worry about never come to fruition. If you can’t change something and have no control over what happens next, turn all the worry over to God through prayer and you will have some peace come back into your life. I know this to be a fact from experience.

Still enjoying my quote books and found another one today that speaks to me. This one is by Harper Lee. “The tradition of the South is not urban… I think we are a region of story tellers, naturally, just from our tribal instincts. We did not have the pleasures of the theater or the dance, motion pictures when they came along. We simply entertain each other by talking.”

This quote made me think about the screen doors again and all the conversations that took place on Southern front porches. I loved to listen to my parents talking on the front porch after supper, later going to sleep lulled by their quiet conversations and the swing chain squeaks.

When I first went to work with Chief, he’d invite me to supper at his house lots of Friday nights and his whole family and I would sit on the porch after supper till the deep dark of the night set in. I loved the conversations and laughter of these porch sittings and got to know his sister and her family and his mother through these visits.

My oldest brother is a porch sitter, too. Sits just like daddy did, one leg up in the swing, dragging the other to push the swing easily. My dearest friend is a porch sitter and we love long porch visits at her house and mine. We’ll even sit out under blankets on her porch when it’s cold.

I find God in the swing on my front porch and in the beauty of the world around me.

“If the world had a front porch like we did back then, we’d still have our problems, but we’d all be friends…” —Tracy Lawrence