I passed our house the other day,

And in the driveway sat an old Grand Am—

The color of a night sky, speckled with rust.

On the front porch,

A little old lady perched

Her hair—silver as the moon—

Whipping in the morning breeze.

Through a pair of reading glasses,

Her bright eyes swept across

A crisp newspaper as she swayed

In our rusty old porch swing.

For a moment, I was stunned—

Taken aback by the audacity of

These strangers, so boldly assuming

They belonged—here, in our home!

But then, from the open window,

Came the old familiar melody of

A young child’s giddy laughter,

Nearly sweeping me off my feet

And carrying me away.

I thought of her—my Memaw—

And for a heartbeat, she was there,

Not gone, not a memory.

The little old lady was her.

Twenty years had not come and gone.

I was the unseen little girl,

Laughing through the open window.

Dancing atop my Pepaw’s feet,

And I was home again.

So, dear strangers—

You bold, audacious souls—

May you fill my home with love and light

For years to come.