When I was in High School I read a book by Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine. The author would constantly refer to "front porch America" and the slow disappearance of that culture. This weekend I thought about that book.
Saturday afternoon it rained for the first time, in no telling how long. It was so nice that Trey and I pulled out our lawn chairs on the front porch and watched as the rain fell. We talked for half an hour out there and watched the neighbors kids as they ran in the street.
I hated Dandelion wine when I read it because it is so unlike anything else he's ever written. I check it out at the library, expecting more "Martian Chronicles" and instead I get this meditation on dandelion wine, like bottled summer, in mason jars in the basement. Perhaps it's worth another read.
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