The Quiet

Thanksgiving is a day or so away, but the holiday isn’t really the point. It’s just the thing on the calendar reminding me how quiet the porch has become.

Truth is, it’s been this way for a while now. Ever since I retired, it feels like folks don’t stop by the way they used to.

For five years or more, this porch was a little gathering place. Now it’s just Buddy and me.

The boards give their familiar creak as I settle into my spot on the bench. Buddy eased down beside me with a sigh, leaning into my leg like he always does.

I glanced out toward the street, half expecting to see someone strolling up the walk the way they used to. A neighbor with a cup of coffee. A friend who claimed they just happened to be in the area.

Even someone out for an evening walk, stopping long enough to scratch Buddy’s ears and trade a few words. But the road stayed empty, and the porch stayed quiet.

“Well,” I said, patting Buddy’s back, “looks like it’s just us again today.”

His tail thumped—faithful, unfazed, content.

The air carries that late-autumn sharpness that sneaks up on you. I pulled my jacket a little tighter and watched a handful of leaves tumble across the yard, gathering themselves at the base of the steps like a crowd that had forgotten where it was supposed to be.

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that even the wind managed to collect more company than I did these days. I wouldn’t call it loneliness, not the deep, hurting kind, more like a thin draft running through me, something that wasn’t there before.

Retirement was supposed to feel like arriving. And in many ways, it has.

I enjoy the peaceful afternoons. But I didn’t expect how people drift away when you’re no longer part of the daily rhythm. When you stop moving at the same speed as the rest of the world, you slip off to the edges without noticing.

Leaning back in my chair, I let the quiet settle around me. When this porch was busier, I didn’t always notice the little things, the slow way the sun settles, giving me time to adjust; the steady warmth of Buddy leaning closer when the world feels uncertain; the way silence isn’t really empty, just spacious, a place where thoughts can stretch out a little.

But I do miss the conversations. The laughter that drifted out into the noon. Stories shared without any plan at all. I miss being someone people naturally came to see.

Buddy nudged my hand, pulling me back from my thoughts. I scratched behind his ears and felt him relax into the touch.

“We’re still here,” I said softly.

Somewhere inside me, I believe someone will notice it again. Life gets busy, people change routes and routines, swept up in their own worlds.

I like to believe that connections don’t disappear. They stretch, wander, and eventually find their way back.

In the meantime, I’ve got days like this, quiet, honest, steady. Space to let my thoughts settle, the way the leaves settle at the bottom of the steps.

I breathed in the crisp air and felt something ease inside me. Maybe the porch will fill again, one day. Perhaps it’ll look different when it does.

But for now, we’ll sit here, keeping watch, sharing the quiet.