We awoke to snow covering our home in the hills, but the sun comes out sporadically and tries in earnest to melt it. There are bare spots showing now, but the air is still quite cold. The songbirds still flock to the bird feeder, with lots of bright cardinals and sassy blue jays. The smaller birds
The sun is trying valiantly to peek out this morning, after several days of rain. This month has behaved in true February fashion, with soggy ground and plenty of rain. The yard looks bare and forlorn; with all the snow gone, winter’s debris can be seen clearly. The occasional sunbeam reveals windows
Winter hit our hills with a vicious blow this past weekend, after we were used to the mild, although rainy, days of the past few months. It began with the snow and ice that covered our hills and highways, and then the temperature dropped lower and lower. An arctic chill spread over our land, crept
A heavy frost covered the ground this morning, sparkling in the approaching sunlight that is beginning to bathe our hills. I am reminded of Mom’s remarking on a frost such as this, “It looks like a young snow!” Our days have been unusually mild for the month of December, and it makes a person
There is more than a whisper of rain in the air this morning, just as there has been for quite a few days now.
Turnips remind me of the late Roy
Without going into an organ recital, I will sa
Spring slides softly int
I can still see him coming down the hill from the Ball Diamond carrying a bouquet of wild flowers that he had picked as he walked along. The flowers were always arranged in symmetrical perfection; rows of blue and purple en
There is still time to go through your files and update paperwork– c
The garden in my mind does grow.
I look outside to blinding white,
And see my tulips blooming bright.
And over there a sweet carnation,
Softly scents my imagination.
On this cold and freezing day,
The Russian sage does gently sway,
And miniature roses perfume the air,
I can see them blooming there.
Though days are short, my v
By Sidney Lanier
My soul is sailing through the sea,
But the Past is heavy and hindreth me.
The Past hath crusted cumbrous shells,
That hold the flesh of cold sea-mells
About my soul.
The huge waves wash, the high waves roll,
Each barnacle clingeth and worketh dole
And hindereth me from sailing!
Old Past, let go, and drop i’ the sea
Till fathomless wate
I feel like my friend Dixie, formerly of Maysel, but now of Summersville, who wrot