When I was a small boy our house had a back porch that sat pretty high in the air. Our land wasn’t level, the house had been built into the side of a mound so if you sat out on the back porch it was like stepping onto a second floor terrace.
Only it wasn’t a terrace, it was just a porch with a long set of stairs that led down to the basement door outside.
My Dad and I would sit together at the top of those stairs. I think it was one of his favorite places. He didn’t say, “Come on, lets go sit on the steps.” He’d just be there. Resting, watching… being.
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