Ah, the sights and sounds of Christmas. Through darkened windows trees alight houses outlined with twinkling lights and some with a yard full of gigantic inflatables.
It was late in the afternoon when Sam and I made our way to the deer stand.
The winds blew in from the southwest, taking plenty of leaves with them. Just when you think you have the porch swept clean, here they come again. The Japanese persimmons hang on a leafless tree. The fruit has a transparency to it, left behind by the early morning frost.
"Our house is a very, very, very fine house, with two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard. Now everything is easy 'cause of you."
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
In the dark of night, I walked toward my room at the Eola Hotel in Natchez. My brother, his wife and I had just dined with a multitude of kinfolk when a vivacious cousin, actually first cousin once removed, hollered out, "Hey y'all. There's a singer playing at the bar 'round the corner; I heard her last night. Let's go."
The farmer and his wife were walking the Riverwalk when the farmer called out, "You still have Romeo?"
It was another one of those dreamy days with the sun and wind coming through the leaves and causing a dancing pattern across the tile floor. The temperature was 50 degrees, heralding the coming of fall.
There are few opportunities I love more than being quiet at home -- sometimes if only for a short time, maybe doing nothing at all but staring into space or out the window and thinking all those thoughts that, in the busyness of a day or week, I've had no time to think.
A week ago, around every bend a field of cotton edged the road. The crops were defoliated, so stalks stood brown holding fluffy white cotton, like cotton candy on a stick. The fields are beautiful, lying in row after row as far as you can see.
"There are some four million different kinds of animals and plants in the world. Four million different solutions to the problems of staying alive."
Sir David Attenborough, broadcaster and naturalist
The cracks in the ground are so wide you could put a nickel in sideways. We've been running the yard sprinklers off well water for the last couple of weeks. For the entire summer season, we didn't see dry grass or tree leaves curling, not until now. A person could get use to no watering. Sam mostly mans the sprinklers, aiming them over the grass.
Those few cool days we had were intoxicating and the comfort of gardening was a rush; likened to a movie trailer to make you want more. I did, I do. I'm ready for fall.
Marv Ashman and his wife Betsy live in Petaluma, California. Marv reads Possumhaw and occasionally sends a comment, or occasionally a tale of his own. Turns out Marv worked for an optical dispensary for 33 years where, like Sam, Marv acquired more than a few optical stories. In Marv's early days, he attended an optical school, only to be told perhaps his talents lay elsewhere. They, of course, were wrong.
Wilhelmina stood at the door on her hind legs looking wistfully through the glass.
Pretty much near every month for some 30 years I sat in a rickety chair at a handmade table, kicked the table leg back for stability and shared a meal with John Robert Arnold, as did many in the Sessums community.
Last week I stood outside the Lowndes County Courthouse with about 100 people waiting for the cosmic phenomenon, the solar eclipse.
"14 'Healthy' Foods That Are Actually Bad for You" caught my attention. The article's author was Jennifer Cohen and the website was Forbes. As a healthy vegetarian, I knew I'd ace the list. I was wrong
"God wove a web of loveliness, of clouds and stars and birds, but made not anything at all so beautiful as words."
Anna Hempstead Branch, American poet (1875-1937)
There was a professor at The W whose name was Smith. Professor David Smith put a great emphasis on words. In fact, he terrorized students with the promise of brutal punishments in the form of bad grades if one misspelled, or misused, or placed little value in vocabulary.
The moon was at the half and glowed so bright its reflection on the truck's window shone like a flashlight. I was outside under the pear tree waiting for Harry, the cat, to zoom by so I could grab him. It's a game we play most nights. While waiting, I picked up pears dropped by the squirrels and tucked them in the hem of my shirt.
It was early in the morning as I sat in my "writing room," Sam left well before dawn for fishing. Pachelbel's "Canon in D" played softly in the background while the kittens batted one another and scurried under chair and table playing chase.
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