Front Porch Rambles

The dog pouted when told to remain inside, but Jeremy was tired of getting up in the middle of a thought to let the indecisive creature back in.  He needed his thoughts to flow smoothly, and his fingers to be uninterrupted. He was never an excellent typist, although he had once taken a class and fared well enough.  That was all fine and good though.  He didn't need sixty words a minute, he just needed the right words. He had been an avid reader since The Pokey Little Puppy and adored Probe, Scrabble , and any other word game he could find.  He would sneak peeks at his grandpa's crosswords, half-filled with scrunched letters. The nondescript ballpoint pen sat atop the paper like a silent guardian.  Mostly the puzzles were references he didn't understand, but he listened when adults talked to each other and had picked up some trivial knowledge from before his time.  He had never dared sully the clean newsprint squares, but in those times he'd felt empower...