It is a view you have seen many times before.

My favorite spot on the front porch.

I sit here tonight after a day of rain, no air in the air. Speech reduced to hushed whispers. The neighbor’s story half over heard, his words sinking, the ending halted by a wall of humidity, only muted laughter where the punchline should be. I want to call out to him, ask him to repeat himself, so I can be in on the joke, but my words are heavier than air and I opt instead to fan myself and remain silent.

I wonder, if the resurrection fern, opened by the rain, has taken in all of the words between porches that have failed to be heard, seduced all of the half heard stories to land upon its opened fronds, lulled then into silence, left the other party guessing, filling in the blanks.

I wonder if this is where gossip and “porch talk” comes from. Feuds and misunderstandings flourish while the fern closes tightly around the last words spoken, silences the truth and allows imaginations to run wild.