I love porches. They are architects of hope.
I have owned porches with a partner in the past. Perfect porches littered with backpacks, bikes, skateboards, fairy dust.
I rent now.
Porches are mothers.
Safely lighting the way home. Always.
This morning I am sitting on mine. Alone. Coffee. Dog. Birds. Rain. Los Angeles.
Barely thinking about the absence of my mother or my job of mothering in this life I still live in title only. I welcome myself home. Motherless. Fearless.