I never liked sitting on porches. My father did and sometimes my mother too. I wondered, are they really in love. One might think so if he passed down the street toward the sunset and happened to look over his shoulder and see my mother's head propped against my father's neck. He might even hasten his step into the oranges & reds & purples with a new outlook, hoping to find love or maybe even a different life;
but I know that when it got cold and dark my mother would come in with her eyes on the floor pretending to call our dog (her way of praying) until she made it to the kitchen.
For dinner she cooked with onions because she cared about us too much to stay out on the porch and look up past the stars.