She leaned her head back against the sanded, smooth top of the rocking chair, closing her eyes against the brightness of the sun. The warmth of its beams kissed her skin in a glowing embrace. She lost herself moments like this. The old porch, refreshed with her welcoming style, had this effect on her. Paint could never cover up the memories. They would always lay quietly underneath the coats until summoned. Silently, meditatively, she lifted prayers of thanksgiving up to the heavens.
The above is a paragraph from the novel I am working on.