Webs we weave

Spiders weave their webs overnight and if they are lucky, folk like me will not walk through them. Not that I would on purpose , however in the early morning walk down the drive to get the daily paper, I sometimes do not see them. I feel myself being wrapped in gossamer, silver threads and know that I unintentionally destroyed a work of art.

Sometimes, when they are left to weave huge webs, they write messages for us to decipher. My mother would study these webs and now I do.

Speaking of webs we weave, life seems to be carved into webs; some broken into loose fragments; some sturdy and strong. Webs are strange filaments that many times break the silver thread connecting us to those we love and those we lost.

Dust to Dust

Open the black velvet box

Nothing but ashes


Open the silver locket

A few ashes, nothing else

Look into the open grave

The black velvet covered box

Inside the vault

Nothing but ashes

I wonder which part

Of my son

I have within the silver locket

God can put all the pieces back, right?

Morning Walk

Today I walked the long drive to pick up the morning paper. On my way back, I detoured to check to see if the raccoon had eaten the little I had put in the feeding area for him last night.

Suddenly there is this golden flash I catch out the corner of my left eye.

Here is the lovely flash I saw that sat and looked at me. When I left it was still there.

Is it a butterfly? If so, what kind?

Another Death

Burnis T. Gardner died on June 29 at 3:19 p.m., as I held his hand and talked with him. He quietly exhaled his last breath peacefully.

He had a graveside service in Sallis, MS at Harmonia Cemetery, the quiet little cemetery where Freddie’s headstone lives. It is very peaceful and remote. My family has owned that land for 169 years so all of us will go home to this place to wait.

It seems I have been here in MS more than AL. My sister continues to have problems losing blood and having transfusions and I continue watching in hopes that this last time the doctors might have corrected the problem.

After a week in the hospital, we came back to the silent waiting house filled with many memories of times past.

When she is stronger, I will leave again. The road back keeps getting longer.

Here is a photo. Next post may be the video if I can figure that out.


“But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.” – George Noel Gordon, Lord Bryon