There are three bald cypresses in my garden - that were three tiny twigs, given to me as a gift soon after I moved to Charleston. Now they're reaching the sky, with knees popping up all over the place.
There should be a paint color called 'bald cypress green'. I'd paint a room that color in a heartbeat.
Bluebirds are, once again, nesting in the purple martin house.
I don't mind. How could I?
Here they are, in a past nesting. Go there - if only to read the wonderful Neruda poem.
It's supposed to be in the 40s by morning.
We're dry. After a rainy winter, we are having a dry spring.
The week's harvest: romaine, buttercrunch, asparagus, a few strawberries.
Tomorrow morning I have an early flight to St. Thomas.
(The Pointer Sisters and handsome Stanley are resting tonight at the Paw Plaza Hotel. It's always strange, being dogless for an evening. The cat is doing her best to be obnoxious and crazy, but she can't light a candle to the Sisters).
I'm heading to St. Thomas for an invited seminar for these folks - and for discussions with these guys about possible areas of collaboration (between those folks and these folks, the latter of who I am currently affiliated with sans salary). I know, bizarro world - but hey, it's my life, so just go with it.
See you in a few days - it's a short trip.