Blood Red Sun

Last night, the sun in Asheville was a red ball of fire. It felt at once as remote as it could get, like something from the Twilight Zone and yet as friendly as a 3 year old's bright shiny red ball.

Sunsets here remind me that the mountains are like me, ready for bed but the sky has not finished with the day yet. They have one more spectacular show to put on for us.


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Bells of the Basilica

Sometimes when we are deep in our grief and thoughts, there's a reminder that hope exists. Last night, I was sitting on my porch totally exhausted from disturbing news, and I heard the bells of The Basilica of St. Lawrence. It was a reminder that all is well with my soul.


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Blue Jackson

One early morning, my favorite time of day, I watched the sun rise from pitch blackness at my house in Montford, to the street lights in the darkness at the Vance Monument to the changing blue sky behind the Jackson Building. It is amazing how many shades of blue there are, some actually a bit disturbing, a bit messy. Sitting with that feeling and color reaches deep into our minds, the air stirs with morning approaching  and then the blue changes - to a blue like this one behind the sky, full of smoothness, a sense of aliveness, and a promise of bright joy to come.
 
But then I don't know, are the gargoyles friend or foe?

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Vance Monument at Night

Asheville on Friday - a huge party. But this was taken early one morning just before 5am, my favorite hour when all is quiet and still before the world wakes up, the hour before the birds sing, when the blackness of the night seeps into your soul, giving you peace and the air just barely wakes up, refreshing you for another day.

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Waiting for the Night

From the yellow house to the side porch, at night, there's a sense of longing and waiting. There's nothing like sitting on your porch at night, watching fireflies and feeling the darkness as if it were a being, an old friend, comforting and peaceful.

This one was taken a while and I had another picture in mind, but an overwhelming urge to put this one on took over. Tomorrow is the girl's 13th birthday and there's a sense of her waiting - impatiently and brooding.


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You Can Go Home Again

It's funny how life goes. As a kid, I remember reading Thomas Wolfe and being told by my parents about places mentioned in the book. Some that had changed, some that were gone, and some that were exactly the same. When I came back to Asheville after many years away, it snowed. I stood at the intersection of Carrier and Salola just a block from Rumbough where the park is and I listened to the quiet. Gone was my grandmother and my grandfather at 94 had just had to move from his house. Now 15 years later, parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles have gone on.

But you can come home again. The intoxicating smells are there, the comforting quiet of an early morning at home and old and new memories waiting.

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