Cumulus

Cumulus clouds are my favorite: white piles of shaving cream in snappy blue skies. They portend thunderstorms on summer days and are crisp like bright laundry on a Minnesota clothes line. Cumulus clouds are summer on the coast of Georgia and the state of Florida. On August days in Savannah, we could set our watches … Continue reading Cumulus

Horizon

She woke in the cool cabin of the boat. It was dark but with a touch of blue light that hinted more was on its way. She shifted next to her husband and heard the creak of the mooring ropes as the boat shifted under her motion. Water gurgled against the hull. She sat up … Continue reading Horizon

Seagulls

I remember dark blue dinner plates with with white seagulls on them. We used those plates when when I was very small, younger than five. The color was the deep blue of almost-night, somewhere between navy and navy with a hint of green. The ceramic wasn’t shiny like most dinnerware I see now. It was … Continue reading Seagulls

Grit

Grit scratches. It roughs the surface. It scrapes knees, breaks seed coats. It is unyielding. It changes things. Grit is tiny shards of glass, slicing through surfaces, glittering, sharp and bright. Grit disrupts. Grit is one of my favorite words. In the same way physical grit scrapes and scratches, internal grit has the power to … Continue reading Grit

A wind blew through

A violent storm thundered through yesterday evening while I sizzled sausages for spaghetti. Oaks whipped leaf-laden branches, and the wind slammed rain sideways into the porch. My new phlox got a deep watering-in. A cold front chased the storm and settled in after it was gone. In the dark night after the rain stopped, I … Continue reading A wind blew through