FLOWER MOON

Change is coming.  I can feel it in the air.  Hear it in the breeze.

So close and real it is palpable. As if, if I knew the exact moment, I could reach out and grasp it…

     …like the moon…

The Full Flower Moon is upon us. Smiling from a star-filled sky.  It is a most appropriate name this time of year.  Even more so, it seems, this year.  The air is perfumed with magnolia and jasmine, wisteria, roses, and sweet tea olive.  

Things are changing.  Something new appears each day.  New butterflies join with newly opened blossoms. 

New migratory birds drop by to add their beauty and song to the spring chorus.

Much is the same as ever it has been. Frog songs. Spanish moss festooning the ancient live oaks.  The beauty of a new full moon shimmering over a peaceful sea.

Some things change.  This Flower Moon sings a new song and leaves me wondering what this change brings.

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May we?

May we dance once more now that spring is full upon us

May we revel in the moonlight on magnolia blossoms…large and white as china saucers, scenting the air with sweet perfume

May we stroll the shore as white crested waves rush to roll about bare feet and erase all track of what is left behind

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May we begin again…with renewed hope, and grace, and determination in choosing the path before us

May we dance

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Spring…Sprung…Sprang?

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Lilacs see to have sprung into bloom… gracing gardens with their perfume and their beauty.

  Dogwood blossoms are everywhere. 

From the trees sprang a myriad of sounds and critters.  Chirruping squirrels, chasing one another in the thrill of spring’s ecstasy.  Tree frogs…completing the chorus with croaks, trills, bleats, and grunts. At night it can sound like a fleet of fire trucks descending on the neighborhood. The anoles don’t have a lot to say as they leap and slither about the limbs or run along the morning glory shrouded fence.  Skinks slither under the raised garden beds, hide in the damp shade beneath the kids’ sand/water table.

Already broadhead skink females are hidden in my woodpile, guarding and tending their clutches of tiny white eggs.

species photo (not  my picture…but I seldom get the females to stand still for me, lol)

The males, with their big red heads are much more imposing than their ladies and less skittish. They love it up in the big live oaks.

species photo

Spring is here in the Lowcountry.  It couldn’t have sprung up at a better time.

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Changes marking time

Some things here at the old house in on the island don’t change a lot … the live oak trees, the spanish moss, the way the sandy soil of the yard sinks underfoot.

Other things seem to be in perpetual flux.  The sounds of traffic on the road a few blocks away. The scents that whisper on the incoming breezes…right now, sweet with jasmine and wisteria…or sometimes earthy and salty with the scent of the marshlands.

The changes I mark most  are the ones whose change reminds me that, over the span of time, nothing changes so very much.  Constant changes.  Like the ocean tides. The great horned owls in the hollow of the live oak…mating, brooding, raising their young…and moving on until next time. The anole coming out with the warmth of spring…big dominant males puffing their throats to warn off the small, slender teenagers with their cocky attitudes, and the coy  females who in the end, really make all the decisions.

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Frogs and toads are laying their eggs, and soon that too will signal change as they become tadpoles and tadpoles become frogs/toads and the damps areas of my yard come alive with song.

The pear tree has blossomed already.  There will be fruit before long.  I await the promise of the fig I have so carefully nurtured through all these winters and this spring’s random frosts far too late in the year…. without someone to cover and protect it, there would be no sweet fruit this year.  No promise of tiny baby fig trees to grow and continue into the future.

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Changes that serve as reminders that it is my privilege and my duty to protect this fragile environment around me.  I don’t grow exotic plants.  I nurture the ones nature placed here…and the ones generations past left behind.  Like the ancient azaleas lining the yard and standing in odd circles about the yard where once… decades ago, they surrounded some long ago tree….now lost to the changes of time and the vagaries of weather.  Yet the azaleas remain, reminding us of time past…and changes yet to come.

Immutable change…as constant and unpredictable as my ocean.

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