Earlier this week, after exploring an abandoned cemetery, my husband took me to a bog to show me a magnificent display of yellow pitcher plants under pines. The carnivorous plant, native to this area, is protected in Georgia. The leaves of pitcher plants are tall and shaped like a pitcher. Ants, bees, and all manner [...]
As I moved from one grave to another, my husband warned me to keep some distance from a tomb that was swarming with bees. By not getting too close to the vault, we were able to avoid the bees, and they ignored us.
It’s impossible to capture the language of the woods in a picture, to fill a photo with the chatter of birds, the crunch of feet on old leaves and on fallen, rotten limbs, the whisper of wind lifting hair.
Annabelle Branch is a young, upcoming artist with a flair for design and an eye for shape, form, and color. Armed with little more than COPIC markers, paper, watercolor paints, colored pencils, and her imagination, she creates note cards and drawings that dance with life. Naturally beautiful, Annabelle has long dark hair and flawless skin. [...]
I will always cherish those times when my husband slips into my office when I’m writing and puts a small vase holding a freshly cut camellia on my desk, those times when I’m busy cooking and he walks in, his hands full of luscious camellias for me, those times when he takes me around the yard to show me his favorite blooms.
When I was a child, the school bus would stop at our house in the country before the morning had barely begun to stir. During the cold months, while waiting for the bus to arrive, my breath would exit my mouth like fog. I didn’t want to miss the bus, yet neither did I want [...]
I drove down ochre dirt roads, sometimes tinged with Indian red, the roads sandwiched between deep ditches, and turned off one country road onto another, again and again, intending to travel as deep in the countryside as possible. Tired of being shut in the house, tired of writing and staring at a computer screen, I [...]
Mrs. Miller asks me what I believe in. Just like that. No warning. Out of the blue, the slim woman with dark coffee-colored skin tosses the subject of spiritual beliefs between us, tosses it between the cemetery where she stands and the edge of the woods near me. I’ve been searching in the wooded [...]
I was at Martha’s Vineyard a few weeks ago when my phone rang. Emory Tucker, my father’s first cousin, was on the other end. “Brenda! Where are you, girl? I’ve got another place to show you where you’ll find some old graves,” he said, his voice booming, softened around the edges. Emory knows I’ve been [...]
The ferry chugged from the mainland toward Martha’s Vineyard. Seduced by a cool breeze and sunlight refracting off the water, I stood on the deck, facing my destination, blurry and indistinct in the distance. A dozen hues of blue draped the sky. Leaning against the guardrail, memories stirred in me, resurrecting the thrill that used [...]