full circle in the hundred acre wood

I have the pictures from April at Longleaf, and life so chock-full. My brain, (to miserably misquote Lawrence Durrell from Justine , the first novel in The Alexandria Quartet), is ticking like a cheap alarm clock.

I would like to upload the photos and write tonight, but my eyes are burning from short-lived allergies. There is a beautiful wild plant blooming whitely (I used to know its name and will again), and the drought provides no dampness to hold its wind-born pollen which my eyes and nose find so insulting. It lines the road to the gate.  This happens every year.

The blooms, as life, are well worth the price. Self-awareness is like reading the labels on food items in the grocery store. One can never go back. And sometimes, I have to chew a while on the brain and heart-filling bites I have ripped off from the great artisanal loaf! 

You know. You go there all the time.

Speak. Leave a memory.

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