Southern Whispers

The long rainy evening gone, dawn was welcomed by a warm winter wind, noisy and interesting.   Dakota slept alone on the couch last night. She'd spent the early evening pacing soaking wet with one parent after the other insistent on action. Glenn and I were trying to protect the carpets and the chances of getting a full night's sleep. She just wanted to stay inside until the storm passed. Eventually though -- after two or three frantic trips back into the house to be toweled off and wait for another try -- Dakota did her business and we all settled in for the night.  So, after a cup of coffee, when she and I went out this morning, I think we were both relieved that the rain had passed. In its place, though, the leaves stayed busy and made themselves heard as the moonless sky, giving way to dawn, revealed a few pale stars and harmless puffy clouds against a still gray sky.  We made our way to the corner as usual, but our path had changed. More than a couple of garbage...

The lingering smell of gunpowder from New Year's Eve fireworks now washed away, this morning feels like a great day to start anew. I love South Carolina's January blooms--an embarrassment of riches for bright-spot watchers. I could have opted to look at the ground beneath this bush--muddy grass and weeds topped with toppled and withered camellia flowers.  But shouldn't my inspiration come from the space where I breathe? The time I have seems never enough. Money, too, and security, and flexibility, and physical strength, and influence, and friends, and know-how, always seem in short supply. But equally true, I hope and pray, are pleasant surprises, lessons available for willing minds, and paths forward for the brave. Today, I'll finish my prayers, light a candle, eat a healthy breakfast, and work through the stack of folders and miscellaneous notes from the busy days of December to find vivid blossoms worth my attention at the start of this grand New Year.   "Let th...