by Lucy
on April 11, 2013
As they say in Paris.
When you add yellow pollen to black fur, the result is a green cat … or cats! It makes for a very festive look during the spring. Outside my office window are yellow and magenta tulips, planted as a surprise by my thoughtful landscapers. And there’s the generous gift of a hypertufa pot filled with with showers of tiny white alyssum blooms. Brilliant pink azaleas. Some yellow forsythia. And the green cats.
Love spring in Georgia — there may not be bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes, but WE have green cats!
by Lucy
on August 18, 2012
Firetrucks are summoned each morning by some unknown alarm, and they race down a nearby road with their sirens wailing. It’s a primal call of the wild. At least, that’s what the local coyote population thinks. On about the third cry of the sirens, the coyotes chime in anxiously. What are they thinking, these coyotes, when they hear the sirens disrupting our woodsy quiet?
Almost daily, the cats and I lay snugly in our treehouse bed listening to this symphony. The voices of about eight coyotes, from deep baritone to yippy puppy. And sometimes the harmony of a police car or ambulance thrown in.
Sigh. Life in the big city. How I long for a quiet vacation in Montana …
Well, I’ll be damned — Here comes your ghost again
But that’s not unusual. It’s just that the moon is full
And you happened to call, and here I sit
Hand on the telephone. Hearing a voice I’d known
A couple of light years ago. Heading straight for a fall.
We both know what memories can bring:
They bring diamonds and rust.
You who are so good with words and at keeping things vague,
I need some of that vagueness now.
It’s all come back too clearly. Yes, I loved you dearly.
And if you’re offering me diamonds and rust —
I’ve already paid.
Joan Baez … as she looked when I first heard her
the Messenger
A new genealogy discovery of some note in Georgia. Taking early morning photos with a new Nikon lens. Details of the new fence to keep wildlife at bay. The powdery scent of Yvonne La Fleur. Cooking buffy steaks on the grille. Rearranging chairs on the campfire pit deck. Laying awake listening to a storm. Scrolling through ‘favorites’ contacts on my cell phone. Finding a link to stories of the Pryor Canyon wild horse herd. The discovery that Harriet has two large companions in the trees.
Finding a sign at Casabella: Due to energy conservation issues, we have turned off the light at the end of the tunnel. And so they have.
How much these words sound alike?
ARROW – ERA – ERROR
“It’s the end of an era,” they say. How painful for an era to be over. It’s about as painful and puncturing as the end of an arrow. And it’s definitely as painful as an error can be. An arrow through the heart shot in error can mean the end of an era.
Thinking on the error of my ways and pondering the path through the darkness.
