I am a summer girl. Born on a sultry July evening in Baton Rouge, Louisiana it is almost as if I was created to breathe the moist, languid, soupy air of the Mississippi river. I am comfortable wrapped in the sweet Honeysuckle laden heat of summertide, where the air is thick with swamp flowers, magnolia…
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he clock adjacent to my bed read 3:32 am. Lured from slumber by the haunting, mournful song of a nightingale settled into his favorite nesting spot just outside my bedroom window, I lay cocooned in a sea of down repeatedly reviewing the next day’s to-do list in my mind. Distracted and restless, my eye was…
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Though I am a summer girl, I will admit to having an affection for autumn. In the southland it begins with an understated change in the light. I appreciate the subtlety as the bold summer sunshine yields to a deep flaxen blush that casts a fertile glow over all earthly things. I delight as the…
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It is clearly winter. The landscape outside my window this morning is barren, and the air is choked with dark fog. The land is bare and brown, dry and cold and the tree branches brittle and stark strain against the malicious bitter wind that threatens their very existence. It is clearly winter, and the shadows…
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