My backyard.

I've never been a person who spends much time in the front yard. I'd much rather be in the back. I'm not sure if that's a statement on my life in general, but I feel more comfortable there. My favoritism doesn't even stem from my dislike that the front yard has seemingly come to signify making an impression to anyone passing by, because I probably fall prey to that mentality more than I'd care to admit--as much as any other suburban monkey I suppose. But the backyard is where the serenity, peace, and privacy lives. It's the oasis and paradise and eden. If you build it right, the backyard is a haven.

Mind you, I find certain aspects of a front yard so appealling. I love an old-school front porch that wraps around both corners of a house and carries on to the back. It makes me wonder who sits there at night and what she's thinks or sees or believes. I love those same porches more when the rails are lined with plants and sculptures and expressions of personalities. I love big, wide picture windows when they're open and inviting and when they reflect the life that's living outside back to the outside. I love fat, wooden porch swings that look sturdy but feel free. I love them more when they're tall enough to dangle your feet from and when they're big enough to fit two adults on each side and a child in the middle. I love long, winding sidewalks that slink slowly up to the front steps, which are lined with lights and plants and rocks and bushes. I love aged trees that hang over a house, hovering and protecting it like a parent. I love a front yard that ever-so-patiently slopes down from the house's edge to where the street takes over; it's as if the yard stretches forever because the people living there have no where to go because they don't want to. I love those yards more when plush, dark-green grass spreads from side to side--like a plantation but without all the guilt. I love ivy and moss and stones and boulders and subtle signs that pets are on the premises. I love front yards that lead to pastures and paths to the barn and walkways down to the pond. I love a screen door that swings open and shuts gently, and not one that crashes to a close. I love roofs that overhang and drip rain and store icicles and that give the impression of being superior to all that would seek to do harm. And I love driveways that circle around, giving you the option to stay or go without having to move in reverse. I love walking sticks kept at the ready. Muddy shoes left outside. Bird nests hidden but heard. I love sidewalk chalk and above-ground sprinklers and bikes left laying, the kickstand never bothered with. I love a front yard at night that glows from the street light and that dances in shadows when the wind blows the trees.

Maybe I like the front yard more than I thought.