GLORIOUSLY GLUM DAY ON THE SUWANNEE

Listening to the long, fat drops . . no, plops, more like the thickness of pancake batter than rainwater, falling softly, steadily, in lines of clear, fat elliptical circles from the edge of the porch roof, each drop mirroring this world of deck, river, trees, the cat, Thomas, on my chest, the cardinal's bath; but this is a fake picture because it doesn't show the squirrels, my personal tribe of two million that for the moment are out of sight.

The cat adjusts his position, obscuring the paper on which I am scrawling these words and I push him down. Looking over his back, I continue writing from beneath an electric blanket on my cozy porch couch. Thomas settles; clearly, he thinks I am his.

The sky has melted and is falling, soaking the roof, the ground, sending tinny sounds from the birdfeeder. Holly, pine, oak, blackgum, birch, and sweetgum, a few yellow faces of pansies in their pots; this is a gloriously glum day on the Suwannee.

In this cold I am wearing not a feathery boa but, in addition to the blanket, a hat and this live furry drape. Otherwise, the raindrops large as hands and their wet chill would go all through me. Thus protected, I can experience weather I'd otherwise shudder at and turn away from.

. . . . It's stopped and I've come to the computer. Out the window in front of me crystals hang from bare limbs. I hope you can see them in this photo, looking north from my front door. I took it just for you. Double-click and you'll be here.

scauthen
7 Feb 2011

WRITE FROM THE HEART

STARTLING winds today; they came in hurricane-like gusts although the sun shone down like summer. The chair on the deck fell toward the river but I took advantage of those winds; I washed and hung on the clothesline a king size sheet and an overlarge bedspread. They never hung straight but flapped like flags and dried in an hour. Beyond the clothesline, the Suwannee's waters rushed backwards in the winds.

THE DEER TRACKS I saw yesterday are gone; somebody from the county road department scraped the far section of River Road this morning. Across the way my shooting neighbor let loose a volley that was mercifully short, appropriate I suppose for my day of paperwork that reached all the way back to October. Where does it come from? Every citizen needs a secretary. However, I do have mail to look forward to because my friend Merri McKenzie told me today she has written me a note, a snail mail note, that great and disappearing luxury.

I READ A DREADFUL, long opinion piece predicting everything but blood in the streets for 2009; actually, maybe a little of that in addition to a sharp correction in luxuries and real misfortune at every level. My response? I'm implementing tea parties, time outs for my friends and me. I can't solve the global, national, or even the state and countywide crises, but I can make tea and serve cookies and bring together lovely people who mean so much to me. And I can hope that while we are together we won't even think of the deprivations to come.

TIME TO TURN OFF THE PUCCINI Arias CD and dream of good things. The huge white blossoms of the large hydrangea I bought in place of a Christmas tree still dominate the room in their gorgeous pot from Mississippi.

BETWEEN THE HANGINGS of laundry and the shuffling of paperwork today, I found time to finalize a poetry workshop description (WRITE FROM THE HEART) we may offer at Stephen Foster Folklife State Park (the actual title's longer than that but this suffices if you want to check out our programs, events, and workshops online). SF Park is a world unto itself; come visit. Come for a First Saturday or check the web for other offerings.Buy gifts made by Suwannee Valley residents.

HAVE A GREAT EIGHTH DAY of 2009.

scauthen
www.sudyecauthen.com