I went up the concrete walk to take a look at the broad front porch.

The porch ran twenty-four feet along the front of the house and was nine feet deep, framed by square white timber posts with dark green trim along the baseboards.

I stood on the bottom step and looked back toward the road.

The neighborhood was still, except for a gray mockingbird perched in the pecan branches above.

Behind the detached garage was a small citrus grove of five lemon trees and two orange trees, their branches bent low with green fruit that would ripen to yellow by late autumn.

I laid my palm flat on the porch railing.