Pure and Rounded Pearl

It's snowing outside---in Georgia! ---the kind of thick chunky whiteness one can barely see through. Every window in the house reveals a Kodak moment. The ground was covered after only ten minutes of heavy snowfall, but too warm to support the crystals for long. The birds are flocking to the feeders, which they also did at the beginning of our last snowstorm.

I have no appointments today. Wahoo! It's what I call a Virginia Woolf day---to quote her exactly, "a pure and rounded pearl."

I called my dear neighbor Frances, age 92, for permission to enter her Southern Magnolia that inspired the story I'm working on. She was delighted to share the history of the tree, planted by her husband over 60 years ago, and graciously allowed me to hide for awhile in its treehouse interior to watch the snow from inside out. I imagined myself to be Maggie, my runaway character.

When I stepped inside the darkness, created by the low thick evergreen leaves and upshoots all around me, some of which are good-sized trunks in their own right, the world became a new place, silent and safe. The contrast of the warm deep shade within to the chilly bright white without was mesmerizing. Sparing you the emotional impact the experience had on me, it was a moment to write about. Will save that for another venue---Maggie's story.

More on this spectacular tree another day. For now, notice its size next to the car. dkm

Pure and Rounded Pearl

The torrential rains of last week (floods in metro-area / schools closed) followed by multitudes of mosquitoes have kept me inside and are reflected in my mood. With yesterday's return of blue sky and bright sun, and time today to sit outside again, my spirits lift. Nevermind today's hard news of nuclear arms threat in Iran. Like Scarlett O'Hara, I'll think about that tomorrow. Today I'll enjoy the crisp dry air, the waves of wind that bring showers of dry leaves and pine needles, the cardinal pair that flits in and out of the trees and bushes around the perimeter of the yard, the hummingbird (hummingbird!) that hovers above and actually lights on the bare branches of the dogwood and on last year's drought-ravaged hydrangea stems, the lemon yellow butterflies with cinnamon brown sprinkles that spin and mate and nurse the nectar of impatiens and abelia, the only flowers left in the yard so late in the season.

It is a Virginia Woolf day---a pure and rounded pearl. No appointments. But do have much deskwork re: oglethorpe, flute, bills, and manuscript revisions.

A Carolina wren sings pretty-bird-pretty-bird-pretty-bird-preet. Nuthatches are whee-he-he-he-he-ing in surround sound. Dry oak leaves float and swing to the ground.

I pay attention, inhale fresh air, and muster courage to face the news of the world's troubles---and energy to keep the promises I must today. dkm