Many Pictures, None Of Them Very Good

A day, a day, it's been a day.
A good one but I'm tired.
I had the compulsion to take the camera on my walk today and I took forty-four pictures but believe me- there were not forty-four pictures resulting which were worthwhile. I wish I were a better picture-taker but I am not and do not have what it takes to learn the craft. The patience, the desire to, oh, I don't know- read the manual. Instead I point. I shoot. I hope for the best.

I ran into town and did a grocery shopping, fast, fast. Bananas, a rotisserie chicken, cucumbers, broccoli, green beans, apples, coffee. Oh yes. Coffee. The Eight-O-Clock brand is buy-one-get-one-free this week at Publix and so I bought four more bags and my cabinets are stuffed with coffee which means I am so rich.
Then I picked up Owen. "He'll fall asleep on the way to your house," his mama said.
But he did not.
And he did not sleep the entire time he was here although I could tell he was tired. He rubs his ears when he's tired and he speaks a jingle-jangle language and he sighs deep sighs and he did all of that but he would NOT fall asleep.
We played with the chickens and fed them grapes, we patted the goats. We sang songs and we played with toys. He can say, "More," now and he says it frequently. More powder was mostly what he wanted. He loves powder and he knows where to find it. He knows where to find everything in Grandmother's house. I rubbed powder on his silky skin, his belly, his neck, his arms and legs. I can say, "Give me your arm," and he will. He understands everything.
He loves to put things where they belong. He picked up some feathers in the yard and headed towards the chicken house where we have stuck feathers in the old cypress wood of its door and indicated that they should go there. I put them there for him. He was satisfied. He ate flowers. Mostly marigolds and pansies. I think his poop will be colorful tomorrow.
He gave Elvis a grape from his hand- so brave. And Elvis was so gentle in his taking. Owen fed Cheerios to Zeke as I washed the dishes.
When we were in the garden, I squatted down for a little weeding. He came over to me and lifted my head up so that I was looking at him instead of the dirt. My heart exploded.
Oh. My Owen.

And then I got a call from Lis. They were driving home from Arkansas and were going to stop by for coffee around six if I was going to be here. They got here right after Owen left and it was like a dream. Lis and Lon are the sort of friends whom I just enfold myself into when I see them.
"Hello. Here you are. All is right again." And I just hold on to them and feel them love me as I love them.
They drank some coffee and we chatted and then they had to go and I began to tear up, the way I always do when they leave, whether they have been here for three days or half an hour. Before they left, Lon asked, as he always does, "Can I go look at your garden?"
Who would ever say no to that? Not me. Never me. I went with him and Lizzie joined us and we talked about collards and beans and sweet potatoes and when to dig them (after first frost). "They will be deeper than you think," he said.
So many things are like that.

Mr. Moon has gone to auction. I am here alone now. I am going to make some quinoa and a salad to eat with my lemon pepper chicken.

Here are the pictures from my walk and they are probably as boring as the pictures grandparents used to whip out of their wallets but now post on their blogs.
Well.
North Florida. October.
An owl is hooting in the distance, the washing machine's cycle is ending which means the diapers are clean again. I hear cars speeding down the highway and I am on an island in the middle of woods, roads, yards, sky, earth, life.

It is fast growing dark and I feel as if this entire day has been a dream. A good one. But still...a dream.

The truck stop. The entire commerce center for Lloyd, Floria.

Golden rod with bees.

Butterflies tanking up at their own truck stop.


I do not know the name of this plant. Do you? It's so beautiful I hate to pick it.


A gravestone with beauty berry. The little graveyard is sadly overgrown and completely hidden now. But I know where it is.

Detail on a headstone.

Main Street.

The falling down house.

Even though it is falling down, look at those still-strong heart pine beams in its ceiling.

What someone left after having a beverage by that house.

A Georgia Thumper, dressed in his fall clothes.


The railroad track, facing East behind the post office.

The sky vine, tired but still blooming on my front gate, welcoming me home.

Sleep well, y'all. Sleep well. Thanks for coming on my walk with me today. I could feel you with me as I took it.