The Office a.k.a The Blue Pug Porch

As a writer, I can write anywhere. And have. But my favorite place to write is my screen porch. It truly feels like I am at summer camp when I am sitting out there surrounded by the trees and birds. I am not the only one who says so. I wasn't always  enamored with the space. When we first saw the screen porch, it was a cold, dreary day in March. I was not impressed by the narrow room. I frankly couldn't imagine us using it much when all of the outdoor spaces were so attractive. For instance, I thought the hammock area would see way more use than it has. The former owners asked if we wanted the blue wicker furniture they had on the porch, and we accepted the offer. Mark spruced the pieces up with a new coat of the cobalt blue paint. We even kept the rug that Joe and Keri had put out there when they were staging the house. I soon came to see the porch as a welcoming place. I'm pretty sure that the wicker has now molded to shape my rear end.

The weather limits the porch's usability to April through October. I mourned the closing of the porch for the season each  of the last two years. It felt as though I was leaving a vacation home at the end of the summer. I am not alone. The room is our pug's favorite place in the house. Even in the deepest, coldest day in January when I walk anywhere near the door, Eli scurries after me hopeful that the porch is where I am heading. I just look down at him and shake my head. Not yet. Eli's full name is Elijah Blue. Because the porch furniture is blue, we call it The Blue Pug Porch. I want to paint a silhouette of him, blue paint on a white background, to hang out there, but it is very hard to get a pug to pose for his silhouette. I've tried taking pictures for the cause. Black pugs tax a camera's ability to focus. To have him both remain in focus and face sideways is a task for the gods.

Today is the first morning it is warm enough to start our day our here. It is raining gently, almost musically. The birds are singing. The whole place is alive. I wonder about the raccoons. Sixty-six days ago Eli and were called out onto the porch because of a screeching racket that pretty much sounded like something was being murdered. Way high up in our neighbors' tree, I saw the cause. Mating raccoons. After the act, they lumbered around on branches that were at least thirty feet off the ground. I couldn't imagine that they chose such heights for their "activities." Unlike the daredevil squirrels that use these woods as their aerial playground, the raccoons seemed less than acrobatic. Forget that, they seemed barely ambulatory. After the wonder of the show, I looked online to find that the gestation period of raccoons is 65 days. I wonder if there are new raccoons in that tree or if the mama 'coon came back to earth to bear her fruit.

Raccoons and squirrels aren't the only wild life I can view from the porch. Occasionally a red fox slinks by. And I wish I was better at distinguishing bird calls. Right now the trees are filled with avian conversations. Eli is content to lay beside me, snoring softly. Only certain bird cries, those made by ornery black birds, raise his hackles. When he wakes up, I will read him a poem by Mary Oliver from her volume titled Dog Songs. We like to read poetry out here before the writing begins. My favorite coffee mug in hand, I am in my happy place again. The end of October is a long way away. Last year I wrote an entire novel in four weeks on this porch. (Though it is one that my agent tabled. She wants me to reimagine the first novel I sent her way.) I can only imagine what this season on the porch will produce. The office is open for business.