Play Misty for Me

When the storm hit the other night, we huddled together as it seemed the lightning was just outside our window crackling and crumbling the trees around us. In the heat and the storms, it's easy to forget that just as night slips into light, the mist and the morning are just giving us a peak into their inviting beauty.


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Waiting for You

Early morning always holds a special place in my heart. It's when the world is new and our dreams still linger in our minds. It's when anything is possible and joy and peace abound in our souls.

Here early morning is waiting for us to join and greet a new world of peace and possibility.

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The Meadow of St. James

My daughter and I want to walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela - the Way of St. James. But I think we already have. This is my father's meadow in Leicester - bright fallow fields. When Vanessa was born, we became servants, learning by washing his feet. From him, we learned humility and joy. We learned how to lose your leg and still dance in your wheelchair. We found our way just as my dad, James did.

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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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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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In the Valley of Love and Delight

Every morning as we got ready to go to school, I saw these two chairs and trees with a backyard that invited me in. I photographed it at different times of the morning to get the light right. Whenever I saw the two chairs beckoning me, I was transcended. To what I don't know. Maybe it's that lingering memory of my grandparents, born in 1902 and 1903, both sitting in their backyard together, he in is railroad overalls and her in a housedress and straw hat. They sat in lawn chairs together.

The story is that my grandfather was one of nine children who lived way out in Franklin and one day he laid down his hoe and started walking to Detroit. To join all the boys who migrated to make cars when cars were new. But he couldn't stay away. One day when back home he saw my grandmother, a woman with big bushy hair. He fell for her and eventually took her back with him to Detroit. My mother was born there but not long after they settled back home, in Asheville on Salola Street where they lived for 50 years.

These two chairs carry me back to a memory of a backyard where I saw my grandparents evening after evening for many years.

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