My Old Porch Seat

This was born in the Georgia mountains
and unraveled over the past few weeks.

Let me know what you think ...


My Old Porch Seat
by Lyn Marinello – 9/2025

In the mist of a mountain morning
In the stillness of the trees
There’s a clarity of purpose
Whispered on the intermittent breeze
Soft enough to sway tall grass
She speaks a dance of light and sound
A deliberate step, a delicate glide
As sun’s light lovingly kisses ground
Pink and purple ribbons
Unfurl atop the mountain’s crest
Hatchlings squawking hungrily
From the safety of their nest
The gentle chill of evening slumber
Seeps to shadows as the first birds sing
Boughs of oak permit a blooming dawn
As night’s inkiness loosens its taloned cling
There’s a peaceful hush of promise
Of the awakening yet to be
The inundation of swarming life
And its simplistic complexity
The silent deer with flitting tails
Graze on the fresh dew-laden grass
The ravens loom on piney limbs
As squirrels congregate en masse
Geese noisily take to the creek
Floating in haphazard lines
Baby blooms seek the morning sun
On the emerald climbing vines
Nothing is seeking eminence
Nothing claims to be elite
There’s a palpable serenity
Enveloping my old porch seat