Camellia

Ethereal

Another Perfect Weekend on a Mountaintop

Receptive: Pitcher Plant

Accidental Serenity, Japanese Gardens

Gratitude: A Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe:
Thank you for the cool water trickling through my veins at last. Thank you for sending me the impulse to buy the Harper's Bazaar Fall Fashion issue so that I could read very nearly the whole four-pound book while waiting for a plane.

Thank you for an old, worn-in and wonderful friendship. For someone who cared enough to track down and drive to the only second-run theater in the St. Louis area still showing Sex & the City so that I could see it on the big screen. Thank you for the release mid-movie where I started to cry - and I so needed to. Thank you for a dream to own the Something Blue Satin Pump.

Thank you for time surrounded by flowers and plants of both the common and exotic variety. For time spent wandering through a woodland garden that transported my spirit to England. For the spontaneity to jump in a fountain and spend the rest of the afternoon slightly damp.

Thank you for chocolate - in martinis and cupcakes and mousse and truffle cake and plain old Hershey's chocolate bars eaten in a dark theater.

Thank you for art. For the burning red intensity of the Rothko. The charred haunting representation of Chernobyl in Burning Rods. For images and lines and color and textures that coalesced into visual emotion.

Thank you for a burst of laughter, for airplaning around a living room singing "That's How You Know" - badly. Thank you for turning laughter into giggles.

Thank you, Universe, for a little break. Thank you for the joy of hugs, the joy of words between friends. The joy of silence between friends. The joy of food shared with friends.

Thank you for friends. And thank you, friend.

Love,
Ashley

Ghosts of Trees

On the northernmost end of J. Island is a stretch of beach that's only wide enough for walking when the tide ebbs to its lowest point. When the tide rolls back in, it drowns most of the available sand and curls right up against the edge of the maritime forest.

When I was there last week, I parked my car in one of the crude spaces near the picnic area and followed a little trail through the forest. The ancient live oaks stretched their gnarled branches over the path and the garlands of spanish moss filtered the sunlight into a spotty pattern on the forest floor. The path wended through the trees, so old and wizened, it felt other worldly. When I finally cut a swath to the other side and found the sandy stretch, it was really quite breathtaking. The beach was wide; the tide receded to the point that it washed just over the rippled sand dunes, and at its very edge, fishermen were more than knee-deep in the water.

The late afternoon sun buttered the landscape in a mellow golden glow. And down the naked strip of sand were trees - whole trees from root mass to spindly tops, washed up on the sand. The beach is called Driftwood Beach for this reason. But whereas I think of driftwood as scraps of sun-bleached board, these were water-stripped live oaks whitewashed by the sun and saltwater. Weathered smooth and replanted in the sand.

I found myself wandering through this beach-side forest, a beautiful wasteland of trees. It was serene; the wind tunneled away the voices of the few other beachgoers. Most people had already deserted the beach for dinner, and the further I walked along through the sand forest, the more remote it seemed.

I marveled at these amazing natural sculptures, carved from nothing more than wood and elements. They were austere and haunting. At another time, they were vibrant whip-slick saplings, and now they lay hollow and abandoned on the dunes.

The water gently lapped the shore; the sun oranged and grew soft. I climbed into the upstretching branches of one of the horizontal live oaks and gazed at the expanse of the Atlantic. To my left and right, branches arced and once-green root cords twisted in a massive wooden knot. These husks of trees weren't less than they once were; they were simply beautiful in an unexpected way. Trees outside the bounds of imaginable trees. Like the way that lives, imagined one way, end up a boneyard of unrealized dreams or directions abandoned. Clean white sculptures of what we once were or lives we never lived and haunting us with their imperfect beauty.

Les Fleurs du Printemps

Snow: Southern Style

It doesn't snow much in these parts. If you're from a part of the country where snow is a normal occurrence, and you've been lucky enough to experience it in the south, you know that we buy milk, bread and eggs, and take cover in the shelter of our homes. We do not, under any circumstances, attempt to travel during treacherous snowfall, particularly if accumulation exceeds half an inch. That's why I was marooned at Justin and Eva's on Saturday after taking refuge there following a day in the ATL office.

Snowfall started early Saturday morning and continued through the afternoon. And it was beautiful, deafening snow, soft and powdery, falling in big papery flakes. Enjoy.

A Few of my Favorite Things

* Earlobes

* Hairstylists

* Worn-in jeans

* Simmering cinnamon and cloves

* Stray cats

* Email

* Eyelash curlers

* Dandelions

* 5 o'clock shadow

* Cream cheese

* Words

*Sneezing

Summer Dinner

* Porch

* White, fucshia, lavendar wave petunias

* Tree frogs

* Peel-and-eat shrimp

* Soft breeze

* Avocado rolls

* Good-natured argument about discerning a live oak

* Salad - craisins, almond slices, ginger dressing

* Sweet heady gardenias

* Lightning bug - caught one, tickling my finger before taking off

* Gently rocking in the early night silence

Second Friday

* Smelled: Honeysuckle, gardenia

* Walked: 3 miles

* Trimmed: Mom's lantana in the backyard

* Purchased: Mother's Day card

* Carried: New Target purse

* Listened: iPod...Tori Amos, DMB, Justin Timberlake, Craig David

* Watched: Pride & Prejudice

* Photographed: Kudzu, kitchen counter, resting on the dish towel

* Called: Former high school English teacher

* Scheduled: Coffee date with former high school English teacher, lunch with Jenn

* Contemplated: Nothing

* Appreciated: Thunderstorm

And It Was All Yellow

Forsythia in the late afternoon sun. Gorgeous.

All Good Things

* Lunch today on the veranda of Bluewater overlooking the Intracoastal with A., who makes me very proud

* Seeing porpoises in the Intracoastal - two or three of them bumping above the surface with their shiny fins and bottle noses and then tipping under again

* The bright, bright yellow forsythia blooming in the front yard

* The "gas leak" (a.k.a. afternoon loopiness) at the office that lead to me singing "Fathoms Below" from Little Mermaid to a coworker and my inability to put together a coherent sentence (and we only needed the one sentence)

* Kudzu asleep on a throw pillow next to me, making sleeping kitty noises

* A very long good conversation with my mom in which she said all the things I needed to hear

* Windows down, crossing the Memorial Bridge, listening to "Blew Away" by the Smashing Pumpkins

Sprung

Spring has sprung as evidenced by this little gathering of daffodils photographed through the fence that separates my drive from Neighbor Man's yard. And a little daffodil hanging out in my own yard just in front of the first azaleas. The day, happy to have an extra hour, held all the promise of the spring to come.