As a child I would often spend time with my grandparents. While staying with them I would, now and then, be sent out to sit on the back porch …perhaps as a sort of time out, but most likely whenever their small kitchen became overly dangerous for a small child to be underfoot. But, for whatever reason those times remain a vivid memory.
That porch felt like the edge of the world, with a vast endless horizon in the distance. The small garage was just about the limit of my known universe when staying with them. Unlike the porch at home that was merely the gateway to the back yard and a familiar neighborhood, the world beyond Grandma’s wash line was outside my comprehension. There were no other houses, or cars, or much of anything else … only a vast space. I can still taste the cinnamon toast that sometimes came with my time outs … a sweet memory of time spent watching the clouds scudding across the sky on laundry day.