September porch obsessions

There has to be a porch in September, when the leaves remain uneasily green and 8 p.m. twilight portends autumn.

Last night, there was. Not my own, of course; the single 40-year-old step at my building's front door doesn't count. I need of a wide, turn-of-the century porch that runs at least half its house's length.

No tape measure required; we just need enough space for a little group to sit comfortably with a few last beers and smokes before autumn crashes down. We had that, and more.

Add a little music piped through a screened window to prevent silence, which never lasted long with the laughs echoing out toward the late-night walkers.

I know what's coming but that won't stop me from squeezing the last drops from this summer. The turn must come and I can drag these feet until it arrives.

I'll laugh, sing along with a little Johnny Cash and look at into the great darkness beyond the porch, where it's black enough to smother away the world until my feet hit the concrete leading home.