Half way there, living in the then and living in the now. As the Spring dances into Summer I get lost in the great what was, and the great what is. I want the sweet sting of sun kissed skin as thirsty late afternoon raindrops slap gently against the thick leaves of the magnolias. I want to smell the creamy blossom’s heady, sweet fragrance mixed with the salt tanged sea air rolling in off the beach. I want to tuck my legs under me on the porch swing and simply to daydream listening to the seabirds call in the endless expanse of the marshes. I want to hear the roar of thunder far off in the distance and feel in my untamable core the wild cracks of lightening hungrily licking a white capping ocean . I want the crisp feeling of sweat rolling down my chest and evaporating in the late afternoon’s gentle breezes, the tangy taste of lime, gin & tonic water and the light headed feeling I get when one enjoys such after day in the sun and sea.
I, who have watched the many colored Aurora glow and pulse over far mountain ranges on long cold winter nights as my soul danced far away in Spanish moss bedecked swamps under the full moon. I, who fell to my knees in a patch of new born grasses where the edge of Wyoming kissed the edge of Nebraska, giving thanks to the first point southward where the earth finally gave a spongy bounce to bare feet as she kicked off the vestiges of winters chill. I , who feels my pulse quicken like the embrace of a lover and a tear on my cheek when I roll across the mighty Mississippi and enter the rolling bluegrass country of Kentucky. I, whose heart lifts as I travel the twisting roads of Tennessee. I , whom is reborn when I breathe in the musky rhododendron scent of the Carolina Mountains.
Half way there, living in the then and the now. I miss the smell of chicken frying the kitchen and the musical laughter of the cooks echoing across the emerald lawn on a Sunday afternoon. Silk, linen and pearls. Fresh cut hay and horses romping in the new mown field. So maybe it’s time to forget the now and celebrate the then. I choose to be the woman who rides bare legged, barefooted, and bareback down red dirt country trails as the sun says goodbye for the night. I choose to be the woman who watches the tendrils of red dance from a strawberry in a chilled glass of chardonnay on a cool Mountain night and is mesmerized. I choose to be the woman who can pull a trout from the stream , cook it on the fire and yet, still don silk and high heels to dance to night away. I choose to be the woman who knows the spells of the Gullah, the mysteries of the Cherokee and never forgets the innate magic of my Irish roots. I choose to be the woman who knows to scramble across the deck and tack sail as the squall approaches. So halfway there means another leg of the journey still to come. I am the woman who will take the best of then, make the most of now and never ever forget to enjoy the ride.
twelvemilecreek 