In 1950 we moved from Southern California to the Deep South. I was 7 ½. This haiku and poem capture my night-time introduction to our new rural community. We’re about 15 miles outside Savannah, Georgia.
moss-laden oaks loom
magenta azaleas blaze
deep south path through woods
* * *
Late summer, 1950
It’s past midnight
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Dear Dad,
It’s African American History Month, and I’ve been thinking about our family history in the Deep South during the 1950s. We moved there from Southern California in the early 1950s. Total culture shock for me. I wonder what it was like for you.
I never knew you as anything but my father the ordained clergyman. Read the rest of this entry »
tones and overtones
echo blending in silent
autumn symphony
* * *
The Hercules Club tree is native to eastern North America. Read the rest of this entry »
hazy blue background
softens harsh late winter freeze
warms rustic feeder
or
open air café
no reservation needed
fresh frozen suet Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Mom,
An old photo and a poem–just for you. I think Dad took the photo. It’s one of my favorites. It’s August 23, 1944. I’m 9 months old, and you’re 23. You look beautiful and happy. Probably because Dad was home for a one-day visit before going back to the TB sanatorium. Read the rest of this entry »
bone-chilling north wind
howls against tight-locked window
rattles my slumber
I thought to buy
my love a gift
unique in every way.
Yet as I searched
along the shelves
Alas! I was dismayed. Read the rest of this entry »
An Amy Carmichael poem for Valentine’s Day–with brief comments from me, especially for you! Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 