The Porch of His Presence

Rocking Chair Tales: Goldie the Goldfinch and the Porch That Waited

(Told in the style of Mother West Wind)

One morning, just as the first rays of sunlight slipped over the hilltops and spilled golden light across the porch, Old Rocker creaked softly as if to yawn.

“I do believe it’s time,” he murmured to the quiet air, “for someone to come sit a while.”

The porch had been empty since the first frost, when the last cup of warm cider had cooled beside an old wool blanket. Winter had come and gone, and now the crocus were stretching their green arms up from the soil below.

High above, from the tip of the sugar maple, a bright little bird was watching.

It was Goldie the Goldfinch, back from the South, cheerful as ever and dressed in her sunniest yellow. She had watched this porch for many a season and remembered well the kindly old man who once sat upon it, humming to the wind and tossing sunflower seeds near her favorite perch.

“Oh, how I’ve missed this place!” chirped Goldie, flitting down to rest on the back of the old rocking chair.

Rock… creak… rock… creak… went the chair beneath her light feet, as if it too was remembering the music of company.

Old Rocker, who was wise in porch ways, said nothing at first. He just rocked. But when Goldie chirped again—this time softer, more thoughtful—he spoke.

“Looking for someone, are you?” he asked gently.

Goldie tilted her little head. “Not someone… just something. A stillness. A slowness. A place where the days are kind.”

Old Rocker gave a creaky chuckle. “Well now, isn’t that just what porches were made for?”

So they waited, the two of them—Goldie and the Rocker—under the gentle warmth of spring sun. They waited for someone who needed peace, who needed the porch, who might just come with coffee in hand and a heart in need of quiet.

And Goldie, bright and brave, promised she would be there every morning—her song like a golden ribbon—to welcome them back.