Tuesday, September 17, 2019

coming home and remembering

Being at the beach takes on an essence that makes remembering sweet.  One of my sweetest memories of this past trip was coming through the screen door and hearing Ivy repeat her Granddaddy count the cracking of the eggs in the pan. 
"One...one.
Two...two
Three...three"



Then there were these sweet and lasting moments too.



No comments:

once again ...and even more frozen whiteness

  There is a wilder solitude in winter  When every sense is pricked alive and keen.         --May Sarton ("The House in Winter" A ...