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The sun rises over the horizon of my friendly neighborhood. The sheet of light gliding over my front lawn begins to pick up speed as it hits the first plank of my old wooden porch. It crawls up my rocking chair and stares me in the face. As it hits my gray eyebrows, the warmth fills my eyelids with a multitude of neon colors while my stomach rumbles from this morning's lack of breakfast. Yesterday was my 79th birthday and I feel older than the years before. When I was younger, I took my youth for granted knowing that my future would always be there for me; confident in being able to sort out my priorities in life. But when those end years begin to stretch thin, life seems to slow down in ways that demand a change. I could sit for days at a time and never be tired of my position in life. These legs ain't what they used to be in my old age. My youth has left me for the memories that only elders can appreciate. But that was then and this is now. We must all face our defaults at some point in our lives. As I stare at the cars passing my line of sight, I lean back in my rocking chair hoping to find the one angle that could settle all my lower back disputes. This old rocking chair holding my weight is all I have left to protect me from the everchanging world around me. The sound joints in the chair are like music to my ears. Every now and then, I would catch myself deaf to my chair's harmony. The years of loud music has finally begun to take its toll on this old man.

Out of the corner of my near-sighted eye, I catch the glimmer of my trusty shotgun leaning against the porch support beam. This beast is loaded and waiting for the next trespassing squirrel trying to steal my nuts. I never needed to fire a shell but imagine this much power in a pair of old hands like these. The people on my street never seem to travel farther than their front lawn. It was not as though my shotgun range extended to the other end town. There were times when cars would cover the streets in a loud harmony of screeching rubber. Although I never cared for trespassers and their business, I was never against anyone interested in a conversation.

Each day passes with a sense of urgency as if some form of higher power has something against patience. It's just not fair. Certain days of my life are physically and mentally painful in my routine way of living. Some days I wish I could [trust] fall back in my mind and hope to find myself in a much more calming place. But with my brittle mind, such a fall would leave me bruised and battered beyond psychological repair. A new season seems to be around the corner. The trees that line our street have started to change in color. The mixture of red and gold creates an illusion of beauty in a world masked with hatred and confusion. Though my rough skin may not be able to tell the difference between sandpaper and silk, I am still able to tell when the winter winds were near I live in my home of past generations and I do not plan on leaving anytime soon. The cars will always pass me and perhaps wave from time to time. My legs may not always work properly so let me sit here on my old wooden porch. I may not need my friends to be at my side, taking part in my conversation. Give me my shotgun and get off my property!

Open and read the pages of my DarkerMind
where one's style of writing comes from deep within.
I don't plan to change the world; just trying to leave my mark.

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The following comments are for "Old Wooden Porch"
by KingDon

Interesting character
Are you going to have him do something? A criminal charge for shooting a tree rat out of season would make a good story for him.

( Posted by: Flosengineering [Member] On: May 7, 2005 )

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