It's been a LONG TIME since I've written anything, let alone a back porch sketch. :) But I'm so close to 30, I need to keep going till it's finished! (This exercise inspired by www.ndwilson.com)
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The wind is rushing through the newly-grown leaves, tossing them like waves on the sea, ruffling through them like a mother with her child's hair. It reaches down to touch the tiny seedlings in the pot, causing the foil wrapper to quiver. The arms of the trees wave and reach out towards the porch, beckoning for playmates.
A little helicopter-seed skitters across the rough surface of the porch. The wind stills for a moment, and it comes to rest beside a tiny yellow leaf, capes for fairies.
The brilliant greens of the foliage overwhelms the back porch, distracting from its homely and muted greys. Ever changing, vivid spring greens and deep waxy evergreens, the bushes are a riot of hue. The back porch, subtle, unshifting, contains a much deeper and more intricate pattern in its pebbly, rain-stained surface.
The wind does not move it. It is touched, but does not touch. It listens to a much slower beat of time.
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