Shadows

Most people concentrate on the sky. But the shadows are just as beautiful. How satisfying it is to watch the light wrapping its shawl around trees and fence posts, barns and docks.

That's what I love about old Florida. The shadows tell a story, and it's not one of sadness. There are horse farms and still, muddy marshes supporting rotten boat bottoms with grasses growing through them. Soft hills carpeted with pasture display classic oaks like dancers on a pedestal.

North central Florida sprinkled woodlands across my weekend. They were laced with dogwoods--just past their prime and half-dressed with white flowers--a sight for the eyes a little too used to tropical scenes.

My mind has been too full of things. It's felt like French onion soup oozing over the edges of a mug that's too small. I've needed some serious nature, and nature that's more than 30 minutes from home. This part of the state feels like a more temperate zone--less beachy, with trees that actually lose their leaves in the winter, and therefore, shine zealous crops of lime green growth when the spring hits the air.

I feel renewed. Cedar Key sightseeing. Gainesville hiking. Ocala horseback riding. Strung together with two lane county roads, they have each seen their share of college students, visitors from out of state, families backed by generations born in a state where surprisingly few originate, and other characters of travel and home.

I regret my camera didn't make the treck, yet I see through a clearer heart lens of really being in the moment when I'm not concentrating on a perfect image to savor for later.

Shadows--whether building with the illumination of a new day or the fading of a day that's been filled with experience--lay themselves out on the land and reach to me. I feel their stories and the sun shining on them, an observer yet somehow part of it all.

Aunt Gropius Gets the Boot

I have such a cute nephew. Two of them actually. One of them is old enough to come away with me and the D-Man on daytime adventures. He's four.

On Monday school was out for President's Day and I had the day off of work as well, so I scheduled an adventure--D-Man, the nephew and I--off to the Lowry Park Zoo in Tampa. With pee pee breaks, it was about an hour and a half away, so not a bad little trip.

Naturally, every family in Southwest Florida that was not at the beach or Busch Gardens had the same zoo idea. So for a few hours we sneaked around other strollers, smart phone-laden teenagers trying to get pics, and hordes of families positioning for good views of the sluggish looking fauna.

I thought we had a pretty good time. We covered some serious ground enjoying everything from monkeys to tapirs to bizarre ibises to giraffes, and we pushed cute little Neph in the stroller the whole time so he didn't even have to get tired out.

As we were leaving, I said, "Neph, did you have a good time at the zoo?"

"No," he replied, very matter-of-factly.

I was planning on not feeding into the little trick. Being outsmarted by a 4 year old is not a good plan. So we loaded up into the car and I suggested a milkshake stop on the way home. Two strawberries and one chocolate. That would be a nice after-event pacifier for all of us, I thought.

About 15 minutes from the house, Neph started working himself up into a teary episode. "What the heck is going on here?" I thought.

I got him out of it a few times by making conversation, but as soon as he could remember his plan to be upset for extra love from mommy during the reuniting, he started the pouting again.

By the time we pulled in the driveway, he was in the middle of a full-on cry and went running up to the door like Big Bad Aunt Gropius had taken him along on a road trip from hell. 

Overtired, needing to poop, who knows... I know, he's only four. But I still felt lousy that a good day had to end like that for all three of us. Next time we'll make it a little shorter and a little closer to home. He's a sweet kid and we all love to spend time with him. But really, Neph, did you have to do that?

Observations

How's this for a random assemblage of weekend thoughts and observations?

• Apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed Christina Aguilerra's bizarre rendition of the Star Spangled Banner at the Super Bowl. (Granted, that's the only thing about the Super Bowl I'll notice. Who's playing again?)  I can't drum up support for the argument that it is really necessary for today's singers to see how long, weird and screwy they can make various staples of American heritage.

• Where the hell did this weekend go?
• Today I thoroughly enjoyed a Dali Diva Sunday. We took a short drive up to St. Pete to enjoy the newly opened Dali Museum and a bite to eat at the Red Mesa Cantina, one of my favorite places to have a tofu, jalapeno and pineapple taco. Okay, it's the only place I can have that. Doesn't it sound repulsive? It's so good you wouldn't believe it. (Really, you wouldn't believe it.)
• I know it's silly--I'm not a spring chicken anymore--but I still find it unsettling to see photos of long lost acquaintances with kids and husbands. Are they really parents? Wives?  Last night I found out something really, really weird about a man I dated in college. I was sad to hear what's happened to him in the 13 years since I've seen him--rather, so sad to hear of the life he's created for himself. As Gandhi said, "It's never too late to be what you might have been." I hope that's true for him.
• I fell off the exercise bandwagon for like 2 days and now I can't drag myself out to do it. How weak is that?
• Back to Dali--yes, I'm bouncing around--what a strange but fascinating cookie. I tried to read his autobiography years ago but got a little nauseated at the arrogance. Let's just say he was a tiny bit self-absorbed. I guess the magnitude of his work in terms of both artistic and psychological brilliance can help me overlook that. Check out Pines Lake Redhead blog for a nice account of our trip. The new museum was so well thought out in its design.  And check out this photo of a museum docent who was modeling her handmade shoe hat, one of four in her collection:

I'm a little concerned about the feng shui of that particular arrangement--an upside down shoe on your head. What kind of energy is that attracting her way?

I'll leave you with that deep thought and wish you a week of good things.

10 Things That Make Me Feel the Sun Shining

So last week I shared a few things that make me want to hide in a dark corner. Since I'm not, afterall, a girl who likes to dwell on the bad stuff, here's a list of a few things that renew my sense of contentment. I'm hoping we have some things in common, and even more so, you'll share your list with me. 

1. Plop me in the natural environment anywhere, anytime, and I'm happy. Pine flatwoods, oak hammocks, salt marshes, freshwater marshes, lakes, rivers, streams, mountains, beaches, oceans--I'm there. There's an order to all of them and I take refuge in their purity.
2. Surprising friends and family with cards and small gifts. I've always enjoyed popping a card in the mail or buying a small, unexpected gift for someone in my life. I need to do it more frequently.
3. Planning travel--day trips to places I've never visited in Florida, weekend trips with girlfriends, or fantasy travel with the fam I may not ever take. The power to plan and explore gives me renewed energy when the minutia of circumstances are draining my spirit.
4. Mexican food. I wish it wasn't so, but give me a margarita, some fabulous chips and salsa, and a veggie burrito, and I'm in sheer bliss. Add a bit of queso dip, and it's like a mini vacation. If only the calories were equivalent to a bed of lettuce...
5. Painting the walls. Yes, I've now painted our office three times in the last 6 months. I know it seems a bit obsessive, but I can't seem to get it just right...and something about having that roller with a fresh coat of color is sooo exciting. It's a physical activity too. Good exercise.
6. Watching Flanders curled in her ball of brown sweetness, asleep and content.
7. And along those lines, the sound of Husband breathing when he's sleeping soundly.
8. The sweet songs of two birds in particular just make me feel alive, like everything is okay in the world: the cardinal outside my window in the morning; and the Chuck Will's Widow I used to hear in the evening when I lived with my parents.
9. I can't lie. Hoarding candles and health/beauty supplies does something for me. Don't ask.
10. Creating. Whether it's a painting, a photograph, writing, designing, a newsletter for work--I love to create.

A New Holiday Tradition

This year I wanted to initiate a special gathering with friends to celebrate Christmas and the completion of another year. Dinner or breakfast--argh. Another reason to eat this time of year is not cool. A party at my place--there's enough stuff strewn all over with decorations and I can't stand the stress of people crowding in here.

So I decided on a Holiday Nature Walk at Robinson Preserve.  Today was the day, and naturally it was the one day in the last twenty years it has rained here in December. Okay, yes, that may be a slight exaggeration about the twenty years. But it is not an exaggeration to let you know how many times I dropped the f-bomb while driving to the preserve.

As the windshield wipers went back and forth, I wondered how many of the 20 great ladies planning to come to Bradenton from Sarasota would make it and how many would actually want to walk in this weather. On a Sunday morning, there wasn't much room for a Plan B.

One by one, they all showed up except two. They were ready for an adventure. Not one suggested we didn't go or looked unenthused. Decked out in varying degrees of rain coats, umbrellas, hoods and quilted jackets, we set out.  We had a unbelievably peaceful walk in the light rain and soft mist through the preserve. Small groups formed and re-formed differently throughout the few miles as old friends saw acquaintances and new people met for the first time.  I enjoyed it all and am thankful to know such a great assemblage of women.

We shared a simple lunch at Atlanta Bread afterward. I returned to the house and read and napped for half of the afternoon. I'm thinking the others did the same.

I love the new tradition and hope to do it every year.

Travel, Security and Being New

I am so grateful for the luxury of travel. Wish I could do it all the time.

It makes me appreciate the larger world we all share. While it reinforces the diversity of Earth in terms of the unique flavor of places, traveling also drills in the unifying factors of the human experience in general.

Understanding I’m not exactly talking about a visit to China here, I still enjoy knowing that no matter where you go, people are people. And you are yourself wherever you go.

I feel the great sense of appreciation knowing how fortunate I am to return to Husband and D-Man. My dear friend in Arizona is alone. She’s new in a big new place, looking for work, the right man, and a group of friends she can be herself with. Those are hard things to come by at any time in life, in any place.

Over the last few years but particularly after this visit, I realize I’ve taken security for granted—that which comes from knowing I have a steady, trusted group of people on which I can depend. Knowing someone is waiting for me when I come home is huge. Being the independent person I’ve always tried to be, I’ve lost sight of how much peace of mind I derive from Husband, the parents and others. Self-sufficiency has little to do with it. It’s more about connection and safety.

I often wonder why it’s such a small priority for us to be receptive to new people with whom we come into contact. Perhaps we don’t know when someone new to our community really needs us—they don’t tell us they’re new or we don’t think to invite them out with us. Or maybe it’s because we think there just isn’t room for anyone else in our busy schedule. Our lives are so full and settled as they are—so many superficial details taking up most waking hours of our days.

I’m going to make a bigger point of discovering and embracing new people in Sarasota. I am grateful to those who did it for me when I was new so many years ago.

I Thought Florida Had the Trademark on Sunsets

I'm out in Arizona for a few days, visiting with my long lost friend the Coaching Goddess who left me back in the spring for a new land. It's so good to see her. The little town of Carefree, just up the road from Scottsdale (just up the road from Phoenix) is lovely.

The big sky surrounded by a silhouette of mountains lends itself well to sunsets.

Willie

Early this afternoon, D-Man and I went to Robinson Preserve to enjoy the 3.8 mile loop. It's such a beautiful trail. D-Man rides his bike and I do a power walk.

It's a well-traveled path, and many people bring their dogs. D-Man always pauses to ask if he can pet each dog, and most people are happy to stop for a meet and greet.

We were maybe half a mile from the parking lot on the return loop when we encountered an elderly woman who was walking a small long-haired dog that looked like it was a perfect match for her. Little dogs usually aren't my thing, but something about this guy told me he had quite a story behind him.

D-Man approached with his hand outstretched, inquiring if it was okay to say hello.

"Why yes," she said. "But he's shy."

"Someone who was very mean to him used to own him. I've had Willie for a couple of years now, and he's starting to trust again. "

Willie sniffed D-Man's hand and then ran back behind the woman, darting between her feet.

"I can't understand people who get dogs just to hurt them," she continued.

As we turned to continue down the trail, we heard the woman say, "Willie is my best friend."

Nearly 12 years ago, I found my Flanders on the street. She was living under an abandoned cottage near my office building. A large cut ran down her head, as if she had squeezed underneath a chain link fence trying to get out of a bad situation. I fed her for 3 weeks before she would come anywhere near me.

I hate to imagine how she began her life, but I feel like we were destined to find each other. She's one of the greatest parts of each day, always such a comfort to me.

Of course I thought of this blessing when I met Willie and his owner. They were destined to find each other, and this connection between human and animal is one that only some will understand.

Window Boxes, Rocking Chairs and Skies

I can usually count on these three unrelated images to reinstitute a feeling of peace.

Flowers and soil attached to the window bring a bit of wildness close to the house, blending manmade structure with a small dose of nature-made inhibition.

There were some good ones last week during our travels.

Windows in the historic district of Charleston

Maybe it's the old subconscious memory of being rocked as a baby that keeps me loving the image of a rocking chair--even when the chair itself might not have been so comfortable.

 

Rocking chairs on the dock in Charleston outside of the Marriott, a one night's stop on our way north to NC

D-Man and Husband chillin' out in rocking chairs on the porch of the beach cottage in NC

I love it that, like life, skies are constant only in their everchanging cloud formations and colors. Somehow, it just works from the vantage point of the human spirit. I find a sort of comfort in that.  Summer in the Southeast is responsible for some pretty dramatic skies--there's a lot of power in those clouds, and they always complete the landscape.

If only the land or ocean could say to the sky,"You complete me." They totally had the patent on that before that creepy Cruise ever said it in that rediculous Jerry Maguire scene. (Sorry, fans of Jerry Maguire and Tom Cruise...can you ever forgive me?)
 

Cotton candy cumulous clouds over the Atlantic Ocean

Subtle sunset over Atlantic Beach

  Not so subtle sunset over Charleston

Summer sky over Fort Sumter, off the Charleston coast, where the Civil War began

Unplugged and Sandy

I opted for the 100% unplugged option over the last 8 days. I even forbid Husband from using the GPS on his phone. The trip to the North Carolina shore was everything I hoped it would be, and I didn't regret being without my laptop. But thirty minutes after arriving home from 13 hours in the car traversing your garden variety of interstates, plus three beautiful hours riding through tobacco and corn fields in eastern NC, here I am blogging.

I thought about you and missed reading your blogs...

Mitzi, I have a great John Irving book for you. I was finally able to finish devouring it while rocking on the porch. Marvin, saw some cool old guns from the Civil War and of course thought of you. Cynthia, I'm soooo excited about the seahorses and thought about you during our trip to the NC Aquarium where we checked out some live ones. Pine Lakes Redhead, there was a beautiful quilt on display in the Core Sound Museum; each square featured a historical piece of one of the tiny communities that dot the far eastern edges of North Carolina. Photo coming soon.

So many of you popped into my head! Nurse Myra--is your vacation from a few weeks ago still sticking with you, or are you back into life as you know it? I always hate to see how quickly traveling days slip away.

Here are a few of my favorite images of Atlantic Beach, North Carolina--my "grandmother's beach," from last week's post.

 

My Grandmother's Beach

Experiences during the formative years follow you around for a lifetime, and if you're lucky enough to have had positive ones, they provide ongoing sources of mental vacations for those times when you can't get away.

The first time I learned we would be spending a week away from Charlotte during the summer to go to the beach with the entire family--including two aunts, uncles, cousins, and my grandmother--I was pissed. Being a young teenager, all I could think was that it would diminish the freedom of summer by seven days.

But my parents were good enough to let me take a friend with me, and it turned out to be a great time.

Every year for a number of years after that, my grandmother continued to rent this large house on Atlantic Beach, North Carolina for the purpose of bringing her family together as the matriarch and preserver of traditions. The large porch was equipped with rocking chairs, and the long wooden boardwalk stretching down to the beach gave an open invitation to the rough surf everyday. Always this beach seemed to exist as it must have for millions of years, without crowds of people, hotels or commercial establishments.

Of course most of our time was spent on the beach itself; or on the deck looking at the sea, feeling our hair coated with salt and imagining what was swimming out there near the horizon; or propped up on the boardwalk rail marveling at the clear, star-filled sky untarnished by light pollution. It always seemed windy at night.

A few mini-excursions came to be anticipated, some with joy and some with a strange nostalgia not entirely inspired by favorable expectation...

An older cousin-accompanied trip to Jungle Land, a mini-golf and bumper boat adventure that we always did at night. I can remember how magical the artificially colored water looked--this sensory experience mixed with the distinctive smell of gasoline dissolved in sunscreen that was still lingering from a day on the beach.

A sweltering exploration of Fort Macon, which was always reserved for the hottest day of the week. My uncle would tease us relentlessly about making the short drive there until one early afternoon the inevitable summons arrived.

A visit to the towns of Beaufort and Morehead City, where restaurants that have been part of family summers forever, along with little shops and nooks along the Sound, were waiting to be re-discovered. In those "must buy a t-shirt everywhere" days, it was a paradise considering the possibilities.

One evening we went to the mysteriously named Radio Island, surrounded by the Sound, to hunt for "specimen." I always admired my family's knowledge and love for nature, and my uncle, who was a judge, was famously entertaining on his vacation days. He strapped a headlamp on so he could more carefully identify little shrimp and marine life in the tidal pools. I remember the feel of the sand stinging my ankles as the wind whipped up around us.

When my grandmother became too elderly and physically challenged to organize the trip, we were also getting to an age where things were fast becoming too complicated to coordinate over several families.

We would all miss out and think back on those times with such fondness.

I'll never forget my gratitude to my grandmother for many things, and these summer weeks live in a place of my consciousness only reserved for love and innocent, untethered happiness. I go there often in my mind.

This year, my father rented the same house on Atlantic Beach. We haven't been there together for over 15 years.

Sunday we'll meet my parents and my brother's family there. What will the week bring?  Surely we'll be equipped on arrival with tales from past years and the intentions to visit Clawson's, the Fort and other fond remembrances. But we'll also carve out new stories, built from experiences driven by a different time and a different place in our lives.

I only hope they will leave a similar lifetime impression for D-Man, who is just around the age I was when I experienced the first summer at my Grandmother's Beach.

Alive

Yesterday morning I went to Emerson Point Preserve, one of my favorite places in Manatee County. Laced with enchanted mangrove trails along the Terra Ceia Bay, a view of the grand Skyway Bridge in the distance and an upland trail through a transitioning habitat, it's diverse and full of subjects for any inspired photographer. I didn't bring my camera yesterday. I'm glad I didn't. I was able to focus on all the senses, and found some extraordinary things.

The night before we were fortunate to get drenched with a heavy storm. When the rain hits and soaks in, the world rejoices. Emerson was alive with sounds, smells and colors. Everything looked so bright. 

Seven Roseate Spoonbills stood on the side of a shrinking pond that still didn't get nearly enough water to restore the normal levels. Tracks from a wandering armadillo were clear enough to observe from dig to dig, where it had scraped a string of three inch holes searching for a tasty dinner, each laced with a thin line from its receding tail.

Recently the upland trail had been burned. Prescribed fire is a popular habitat management tool here in Florida, where invasive plants are destroyed and pine flatwoods are stopped from the process of succession to hardwood hammocks. Because of the rain, the smell of the burned earth was ripe again, and filled my nose with the scent of a raging campfire the morning after. Beautiful.

The wild limes, a native plant which doesn't actually bear limes, were blooming with clusters of tiny flowers. As I approached each wild lime, a sound like a muffled airstrip grew louder. Hundreds and hundreds of bees were pollinating them, and no matter how close I got, it wasn't close enough to disturb them from their deliberate work of working the small blossoms. Incredible.

I love how the world becomes even more alive after the rain. Although I'm not sure if the plants and creatures are sure of what they're missing, when it comes, they buzz with gratitude and celebration.

Sanibel Treasures

My only hesitation in another beach posting is that readers who aren't from Florida get the shore stereotype reinforced. So I'll preface the sandy photos with a comment that there are many treasured ecosystems in our state--from pine flatwoods to cypress hammocks, saltwater marshes to turkey oak sandhills. It's a beautiful state.

So that said, let's give it a whirl. Here are some photos of the beautiful, untained-by-oil beaches of Sanibel Island. Get there if you can. It hasn't been spoiled...yet. I'm praying for it.

A frothy surf glides over thousands of years of broken shells and sand leaving a few delicate bubbles--

not to be confused with those hideous Bubble Room bubbles.

A Florida fighting conch's egg case sits on the sand with glimmers of salty film. Damn, laying that many eggs must suck.

White ibises, one adult and one immature, harvest tiny mollusks from the sand. These guys have it right. Never understand the ones you see in urban yards and retention ponds behind big box retailers. What are they THINKING?

Basking in Weirdness with a Giant Pinch of Hot Creepy

Florida is full of beauty, surprises, transplants from faraway places, agriculture...and weird, weird roadside attractions and unexpected dives.

You can't call the Bubble Room a dive, but weird it is. And so chocked full of memorabelia this restaurant with the wobbly roof is, one wonders if the occassion to dust and clean ever comes around more than once in a very long time. Situated on a charming spot on Captiva Island, the Bubble Room is quite possibly the strangest place you'll ever grab a bite to eat. ...If you don't count the Linger Lodge here in Bradenton, which is bathed in a very odd assortment of badly taxidermied mammals and rattlesnakes spelling out words on the walls. I diverege from the subject at hand...

To me, there isn't much that can be creepier than monkeys, monkeys with instruments and oversized rabbits on the front porches of doll houses.

...except maybe clowns--clowns that look mean, like something out of that movie that ran on HBO for two centuries in the late '80's, Killer Clowns from Outerspace. Remember that jewel? Brother used to love it.

Then again, I can't say enough about statues of ravenous animals like a llama that belongs on Poltergeist--looking at you with a creepy stare as if it will soon come alive and attack with its bizarre pink and black lips...

...and a hippo head the wild Nile River has never seen the likes of--jaws thrown open 180 degrees.

Where the HELL did these things come from. And did Stephen King have a hand in their creation?

I can't forget the cage from a circus side show, inhabited here by a local writing Goddess and Gropius reader. 

Despite my apparent Bubble Room bashing, it's such a cool place to visit. The pop history you find within these walls nearly blinds you from too many detailed movie posters, action figures, faded postcards and worn stuffed animals, vintage stuff that could or could not be worth millions in Antique Roadshow.  You can't possibly imagine all of the oldie moldy collector's items, including a giant filthy Micky Mouse from the Macy's Day parade, looming over the tables; dolls with frozen cries on their faces; metal ferris wheels; Alice in Wonderland's real life tea party; a room filled with aquariums and nautical treasures; etc. etc. All of the tables have glass tops under which a myriad of Christmas treasures and random bits of creepiness are mixed together.

Now you simply cannot be in this part of the world without having a meal at the Bubble Room, or at least stopping for one of the 70 pound slices of cake.

A coconut cake slice one of the six friends took home stayed wrapped in the hotel room overnight, followed us through hot car rides around the island the next day and was finally eaten with a shared fork in the car just before we pulled off the highway home.  Ah, friends. Nice to have a bizarre place to share an adventure. Tomorrow I'll post photos of the gorgeous natural treasures of Sanibel/Captiva. They won't be nearly as creepy.

Big Decisions

Like you, I've made some big decisions in my life.  Most of the big decisions are more intangible--they've been decisions more about the kind of person I'd like to be, the spiritual principals I choose to guide me. 

But of course there are those decisions that change the direction of our lives by virtue of a single sentence. These are the pronouncements that, in a series of words, can change everything:  a marriage vow, accepting a new job, starting over by moving to a new city or state, making a stand for justice that shapes all of your activities and friends, challenging someone you're close to, the choice to have (or not to have) children, etc.

I have a heavy decision churning in the old Gropius psyche today. I'm still collecting all the facts and doing the right scans needed to make the most informed decision I can. But it's one of those decisions that's hardly cut and dry.  One choice means way more potential opportunity for me but comes with risk.

Being "safe" isn't always the best way to lead your life. But risk comes with its own set of realities--the possibility that some of what you currently have and hold dear will be lost.

So I'm doing the good 'ole pro and con list, waiting until all of the information is available, taking my time without letting the hourglass decide for me, and doing my best to let intuition guide me. I'm still relying on the Universe to provide some pointers. I just need to pay enough attention to hear her.

What are the big decisions you've made in your life? What do you wish you knew when you made them?

Big Possibilities

Observing others embarking on life at its beginning, we see a clean slate full of new possibilities and exciting unknowns. As we move through our own lives, each choice can be empowering, it can be daring, it can be well-reasoned or silly, but in one way or another, it directs us on a certain path. And though that path can be altered in seemingly infinite ways, as we get older, our possibilities get more limited.

Perhaps one reason we're attracted to the freshly emerged youth of all species is the inherent symbolism they carry of newness--so many potential choices and directions will shape their now infant lives. They stand for big possibilities.

Here's my brother's first little girl, with whom I've been visiting this week. She flew out with her mother all the way from Texas, and we're enjoying getting to know her at this very tender time of life.

My hope for her, for myself, all those I love (and even those I don't like so much) is for us to stay open to big possibilities, to feel the current of things that could be, and to have the courage to make the right ones happen.

This weekend raise your glass to Big Possibilities and vow to make a great one come to fruition in your life!

Two Worlds

Two worlds: 
Vibrating cell phone with 134 text messages, mostly from girls, in a 3 hour outdoor trip
Gurgling river water swollen after a rain

Two worlds:
Crispy fungus growing like warts on a tree trunk
Newly emerging leaves, first red with new life, turning a tender green

Two worlds:
Ken from Minnesota, old friend turned blogger pal, visiting for the week
Florida Husband, always within 50 miles of the coast

Two worlds, now one:
A Palm
A River

Two White Worlds:

Two Worlds:

Being Something, Seeing Something

Spring at Emerson Point Preserve

Could I be any luckier to have the treasures of Emerson only 10 minutes from my house?  Between rain showers this morning, D-Man and I went for a walk along the upland and the mangrove trails with Flanders.

The Spring calls us from our indoor retreats and asks us to embrace the elements, the colors of lushness waiting to explode from budding branches and the birth of new ideas, new life.