Here on the porch, the air is perfectly cool. Warm gray floorboards reflect the shade, while a glorious pale blue bay peeks through the curly patterns of metal chairs. I see shapes made of light in the negative space, reminded of one of my first lessons in painting as a teenager.

From my seat on an old couch glider, worn down railings form a gentle perspective of the square space. And although it is early afternoon, you can tell that the wood has seen many nights of noisy dinners and candlelight board games, boasting its crucial role in the house with discolored edges and a crooked, overused door.

It’s the porch. It’s where you’d say, ‘let’s go chat on the porch,’ like the place is as much a friend as the person you’re visiting with.

There’s familiarity in its geometric shape, with its three sides of floor-to-ceiling screens. Today, the weather is crisp with early spring, but those see-through walls offer the best kind of security in the buggy summer heat.

For now, I let the memories spill out, filling my cube of comfort and then leaking through the floorboards, down the grassy bank, and into the bay that sits still as a held breath.