Sunday, May 3, 2015

I Would Never Ask For More Than This

Ah, but I have enjoyed this day so much.

This is how simple I am:

Three lines full of laundry in a a warm sun which I can fold so neatly and put in the basket and bring in and put away. Clothes and napkins and dishtowels and a tablecloth and towels and washcloths and rags, all so clean and so sweet. 

A tiny rose growing in a pot on my deck. The blossoms are limited now. The camellias are done, the iris too. The phlox are about to bloom but not yet, not yet. But here is a shy little rose, pinky-peach. "Bashful and blush," as Shelby said about the colors for her wedding in Steel Magnolias. 

Light. And shadow. The older I get, the more fascinated I am by the way these two elements dance and change everything, moment by moment. Would I have noticed this forty years ago? Thirty? 
I do not know. I don't think so. 

My silly, silly ducks. Oh, Kathleen, thank you for these nasty-water-fouling fowls who talk all day and ask questions and give answers, who travel together as one throughout life. 

My garden which I dug in, weeded in, mulched, and planted crowder peas in. Have you ever eaten crowder peas? Food of the fucking gods, I tell you. I hope they make. I pulled more kale, more collards, the last of the lettuces and fed them to the goats next door. I also fertilized my bonsai peppers and eggplants. And now the water is on them and I said my own prayers to the garden gods, kneeling in the dirt, doing all that I could. 

The shallots I pulled. They are shiny-papered tiny bulbs of goodness.

My home with doors and windows flung open on this day of the most incredibly temperate weather to let all breezes blow through, along with light, as well as with sound and scent, and which creates a world where the boundaries between outside and in are blurred beautifully. 

This creature. Yes. She is just a cat. But oh, how much she has brought to my life. I think that when the dogs died and she came to us, my soul let out a great sigh of relief. I am a woman who needs a cat familiar and now I have one. 

The bed where we will rest tonight. Clean sheets, stretched tight. We will be watched over by the spirits of this house whether they are the spirits that came with the heart pine of which it is built or the spirits of those who lived here and died here before us. Or both. Whatever. 
I feel a gentleness here that I have never felt in a house before, surrounded by the majestic trees and ferns and flowers, the ones I have planted, the ones which have been here since the only humans were people who hunted with arrows and spears, whose bones I probably live upon. 

I so wish my bones could rest here too when I am gone. 


Until then, until I die, I am just so happy to live here. 

Love...Ms. Moon


  1. My grandmother, who lived in Bessemer, Alabama, grew crowder peas. She cooked them with fat back and they were wonderful. I miss her and I miss her cooking. Your beach picture reveals that you have great looking legs!

  2. No wonder you are so happy there; it's beautiful inside and out.

    Although I don't know if I could "do" the snake thing ...

  3. It is a lovely place filled with your work and love. All you need. I hope to be carried out of our home in a body bag. After that, I don't know what will happen.

  4. I love crowder peas -- I wish I could eat some of yours!

  5. Allison- If I get enough peas for one meal, it will have been worthwhile.I swear.

    jenny_O- The snakes mostly stay out of the way. Mostly.

    Syd- And who cares?
    When I'm dead, I'll be dead and won't care.

    Elizabeth- Let's not count our crowder peas until they are grown, picked and shelled!

  6. I love your life. I love you. Thank you for letting me into your house.

  7. Beautiful, beautiful. I love these posts so.

    Mary, maybe you should stop thinking about moving, and just have a child move in to look after you in your later years.

  8. A gorgeous house and garden. It's still too cold here to open all the windows all day... But I pretend it's warm when the sun shines in through the glass.

  9. I love the smell of sundried laundry. It's one of the best smells in the world.

  10. That laundry in the sun, the light in your garden, the air in your house, all of it is pure poetry. You write it every day. And I am so very grateful I get to come here and be with you in it. My love to you on this fine Monday morning, sweet woman. Thank you for being here.

  11. Ahhh, the sight of laundry on the line makes me happy. The smell of fresh-off-the-line sheets on a bed make me swoon! I have doors and windows open, too...and who cares when I see the dust motes in the sunshine? Not me, obviously! Thanks for sharing the sights, sounds and smells of your blessed life!

  12. Your world, the way you put it together and the way you look at it and share it, is absolutely beautiful.

  13. Syd- And we won't care!

    Denise- You are welcome here anytime.
    I love visiting in your home, too.

    Jo- Mr. Moon has promised me that we do not have to give up this house. He knows it would kill me. He is kind.

    Mwa- What would we do without pretending?
    I am mostly grateful that it's still COOL enough to keep the house open.

    Sabine- Yes. And baking bread. What could smell better than those? Oh. A baby's head.

    Angella- And thank YOU for being here. I think of you all the time and how our homes are so different. I mean, I constantly consider this. You live up in the air and I live down in the dirt. It's sort of a beautiful balance.

    Catrina- Dust motes can be magical.

    Andrea- My home is a dream for me. It truly is. Thank you so much.

  14. I have never had crowder peas. I'm not even sure what they are! But I do love a good clothesline full of sweet-smelling sun-dried laundry. I miss that about Florida.

  15. I'm reading backwards, catching up. I loved this post.


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