I’m not much of a talker. I often feel awkward. And shy. Even with friends, sometimes.
There’s some sort of sudden pressure in the first few moments of any casual conversation or unexpected encounter. A sense of responsibility. A rush of adrenaline, maybe, and a flush to my cheek.
I just don’t know what to say.
And there’s a small moment of panic right there in aisle seven.
Niceties. Pleasantries. Small talk. All challenging, difficult, and uncomfortable for me.
But I’ve learned this summer there’s something about a porch that unties my tongue. On a porch, conversations tend to drift, unhurried, and flow like the gentle back and forth of the rocker.
It’s easy. Neighborly. We’re in good company. And there’s a gentle silence in the spaces between words. A moment or two spent rocking and watching the birds fly by.
There’s time enough for companionship. A cold beverage and yes, commentary on the weather.
You and me.
Let’s catch up.
Out on the porch.