The Soul in Me...

Passing by the old cemetaries, I, of late, have caught a glimpse of shadows, spirits, optical illusions. Perhaps they are optical allusions. Spiritually tuned up, I feel them looking at me as I drive by. Their grave stones etched by the wind and scarred by the oxidation of water, can we even tell who they once were? Do they want us to know, or; might they prefer to remain anonymously frightening? I wonder these things as I ride past their haunts and peer curiously into the woods at their stones having become overgrown by trees and underbrush, guarding the secrets of their past. I feel a chill. I look away not wanting to disturb.

Their souls are wandering around in my brain tonight. The soul of my loving Aunt Meme, my "kindred spirit" as she used to say; the soul of Unkie her sweet" Mr. Wright" who loved me from deep in his heart; the soul of my dad puffing away on his pipe turning the smoke into fog; the soul of my mother singing her siren song; the soul of Paul, my dear sweet brother-in-law, gone too soon listening to all our conversations to pass the family secrets on to souls unknown, the soul of the recently departed Reginald Edwards reaching back to kiss his wife goodbye one more time; the soul of my beloved friend, Cecil Belcher, laughing at me having "some grass" for lunch. So many souls.

Perhaps their wandering spirits wish to roam, and; envy my freedom. My freedom to see them or not, my freedom to choose my way as their time has passed.

Halloween in Pittsylvania County where history is still living!

Jimmie Mills from Whitmell

Jimmie Mills was a great friend of ours who grew up in Whitmell in Pittsylvania County. Saturday, Otober 11, 2011, we celebrated his life with a small group of family and friends. We sat and listened to home town yarns reveling in his humor and what we always called "Jimberisims". One aunt told us what a beautiful child he was and how they would walk downtown in Danville on a Saturday afternoon as people on the street admired the cherub faced little boy. She said she was actually too young to be his mother, but that was what people assumed. She said she didn't mind. She was proud to be with him.

As a youthful man he rode a motocycle, but he wasn't a sterostypical "biker". He was gentle and chiding with his friends, caring and giving with his family. He loved to tell a good story and to make others laugh. We laughed through our tears and knew we all would miss his keen wit and winning smile.

His wife, Pattie had 68 balloons there, one for each year of his life. Each guest was asked to take one and send it off in the air. Michael and I waited until we reached the Whitmell community where Jimmie grew up, went to school and where his father owned a store. We pulled in to the old Whitmell School parking lot and let them go. They were pink and floated westward into the sunset staying an equal distance apart until disappearing from view. We loved Jimmie, he was a Pittsylvania County boy.

Free as a bird

I am a free spirit
I see the spirit in everything...
the cricketts sing, the church bells ring,

the wind blows, the truth knows,

I rise to the top like oil on water

I use negative thoughts as though it was fodder

I turn dirt into gold and never grow old,

my thoughts without limit...

Give me your peaceful spirit and I will give you a minute.

The leaves fall and are transformed into permanent shapes. They crispy up like fried chicken in hot lard. Their ends turn up or their sides turn down. Their crispiness sounds like tiny feet skittering along the roadway. The rain seems to soften them again and they clump up in the gutters and edges of roofs. They float from their perches on branches far above sliding from side to side like an amusement park ride. 
Appearing as feathers, when wet, stick to the first object in the way. Many leaves cling on into the late fall as though they cannot stand the thought of falling to the ground, or are unwilling to have their lives come to an end. Perhaps the leaves know that the tree will have to suffer the cold of winter with no blanket of leaves to protect and warm it. Maybe they are just too lazy to take the plunge. 
When all is said and done, we accept the leaves as they are: green, red, yellow, rust, brown or on the ground!

Feel the Fall rain

Barely perceptible, the rain gently fell like endless sheer curtains floating across the eyes. The mimosa leaves gently swayed with the weight of the droplets, caressing each one as they slid down the veins and captured their heart. Across the sky, the clouds wafted like cotton candy in the wind, offering sweet soft moisture with every movement. The drops gently touched the face and the exposed skin of arms still longing for sleeveless blouses and feet remembered the freedom of toes peeking out of sandals. One could walk through these sheets of tepid tea from the sky and never notice the joy of warm rain as the days turn to cool and the nights beckon to winter. But, don't! Stop, feel, love, sniff the air and find the way to paradise right here, right now.