Nine o'clock was still four minutes away, and as i looked across the front yard from my perch on the front porch, i noticed that dusk was still not completely present and it would still be awhile before darkness arrived.
if i was still a child, i'd be lamenting the fact that i'd have to go home… the streetlights were already fully lit and by my mother's standards, i would be late. we were to come home as the lights were coming on. rats. i'd likely be a sorry candidate for a bath, too.
but if it was friday night, i'd come in to the smell of popcorn popping and butter bubbling in the saucepan on the stove with my dad carefully shaking the pan to ensure every kernel popped without scorching. it was a science… and he was the master. we'd have big bowls of buttery, salty popcorn and small glasses of coke; a friday night treat. coke was a luxury in our house. if it wasn't kool-aid, it was hi-c. never soft drinks—or as the folks in my part of the world called it—soda.
scanning the yard before me, i noticed the twinkling of the fireflies… a certain sign that it is, indeed, summer. like a light show just for me, the fireflies were busy performing a silent ballet. i settled into my seat, stretched out my feet and sighed with contentment after an extremely busy day at work. we had our evening before us, no agenda, no expectations. we lit a candle, turned on some jazz and sat in the summertime quiet and talked.
it made me yearn for the days of my childhood when people used to sit on their porches and people would be out walking and would stop by for a visit.
and then everyone got central heat and air… and it wasn't long before we all relaxed inside… in our cool living rooms, with the glow of our televisions visible from outside, fickering in the windows. can't visit now… our favorite shows are on.
see ya around…