Victorian Verandas: Porch Life in Grant Park

Lyrics

[Intro]
Late sun on Cherokee Avenue.
You and I on the top step.
The day is letting go of its heat.

[Verse 1]
Look at the grain in this old wood.
Pine, worn smooth by a hundred summers.
The gingerbread trim, a little soft at the edges.
Up there, under the gable, fish-scale shingles catch the last light.
Someone in 1890, maybe 1910,
chose this color, this particular shade of blue for the ceiling.
To keep the spirits away, they said.
Or just to feel like sky.

[Chorus]
This is the exhale.
The space between the street and the front door.
Not quite public, not quite private.
Just the quiet hum of the porch swing chain.
This is where the city gets told to wait.
Just for a little while.

[Verse 2]
The hanging fern basket drips a single drop on the rail.
I can almost hear the ghosts of conversations.
Ice clinking in tall glasses.
A screen door slamming shut down the block.
The scuff of a child's shoe, learning to ride a bike on the sidewalk out front.
This swing has held so many secrets, so many tired shoulders.

[Chorus]
This is the exhale.
The space between the street and the front door.
Not quite public, not quite private.
Just the quiet hum of the porch swing chain.
This is where the city gets told to wait.
Just for a little while.

[Bridge]
And soon, the light inside will click on.
And then Mrs. Henderson's across the way.
And then the one next door.
A string of yellow pearls down Park Avenue.
Each one a signal.
We're home. We're safe.
The day is done.

[Outro]
Just the creak of the wood.
The smell of dust and coming rain.
You and I.
Right here.