Porch Steps

Nora Mahmoud

            I sat on the front porch, gazing at the gentle midnight sky. Stars twinkled behind the leaves on the oak tree before me. The silver moon shone down on the wet asphalt of the road, catching on the slivers of glass embedded there and making the whole street sparkle.

            The crisp air caressed my cheeks, bringing the smell of grass and rain with its soft touch. I leaned back on my hands, digging my palms into the rough cement of the steps, attempting to feel everything at once. Dogs barked next door and the last cicadas of the year sang into the night as I sank further into the darkness. The taste of smoke reached me, curling up from a distant backyard, just visible beyond the shrubs that lined the driveway.

            The summer was over; the autumn creeping ever closer. And on that porch, with the stillness of the night enveloping me, I fell into the silence with relief.