the sound of rain on the roof.
the smell of garlic cooking.
seeing the kitties play.
enjoying a nice glass of wine.
a fabulous meal in a hole in the wall place.
walking on dirt roads.
getting lost (briefly) in the woods.
sunflowers.
cheesecake of any kind or flavor, plain and simple or ritzy glitzy.
friendship.
poetry.
the icing on cake.
fresh figs.
climbing mountains.
sleeping in hammocks.
travel.
reading and writing.
all sorts of other things.
What do you love?
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Small revelations of the sea's mysteries.
Scene from dog walking....
I guess it's about life on a dirt road, where things get dusty sometimes, pot holes develop randomly, trees hug the banks, leaves carpet the shoulders and things move a little slower.
Innocents and Accidents, Hints and Allegations
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Ho Ho's
Senorita Pil
Out of the Bag
A Daily Tale
Scattered things
Small revelations of the sea's mysteries.
Hillbilly, Please
Happily Unmarried Ever After
At the Top of Squirrel Spur
Something that loves a dirt road
Scene from dog walking....
Blog Archive
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2008
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March
(29)
- Monday's Last Call
- A triumph! Old Fashioned Oatmeal Honey Apple Cake
- I love...
- The Grapes of Wrath
- Cicadas and grasshoppers and crickets, oh my!
- Dirt Road Dog & Flower Pot Kitty
- Who are We?
- W.W.J.E
- Feeling better already
- Something Peepy
- Washing dishes
- A walk in the wild woods
- Rob Brezney on Fish Girls
- Sing it, Mr. Berlin!
- Driving with Norah Jones
- Magi's First Day outside...he's loving it!!
- Singing in the Rain!
- Our new main squeeze...
- good television
- some dark contemplation
- Spring blooms and kitty tails
- Life with a clever canine.
- I'm writing this because I can.
- March Passing
- For all my teacher friends
- Day 6 of March 2008
- A tiny home blown 'round in the wind.
- I don't like the Osmonds.
- Put a tune to this.
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March
(29)
About Me
- k
- United States
- Southern girl, dog lover, reader, writer, secret-keeper, melody hummer, and good friend.
2 comments:
Baseball, science, words.
A base hit back up the middle that the pitcher throws his glove at as it flies by.
A hard ground ball just inside the third base bag that the third baseman gloves, his momentum carrying him into foul territory behind the bag. The third baseman leaps high into the air, releasing a long, arcing throw that just barely beats the runner to first base.
The sound my nephew makes when he discovers the sound something makes when you bang it against something else.
The feeling you get when you close a book and appreciate the layers and nuance and subtleties of the journey the author took you on, and the pang of regret you get when you realize that there aren't any more words, that even if there is a sequel, it will, even if it is as good, not be the same. The feeling that you will never, ever, read this book for the first time ever again.
The kind of inside joke that makes absolutely no sense to anyone other than the person who was there when you experienced it together. The kind of joke that, even if you just whisper the punch line to each other, can set you into the kind of gut busting laughing fit that leaves you literally aching and gasping for air.
The feeling you get when someone else reacts to something exactly the way you do, that tiny acknowledgement that you are not as alone in the universe as it seems.
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