Pollywog Creek flourishes green from recent early summer rains, and as I rest on the banks of the pond this sabbath afternoon, I soak in the goodness of the day.
I do love Sundays - from waking to the aroma of fresh coffee and Louis frying bacon for the Sunday morning pancake breakfast he's faithfully prepared for over thirty years, to the lazy late afternoon and everything in between.
Monday morning I breathe in the intoxicating sweetness of gardenias I've arranged in the etched glass bowl on the counter next to the jar of roses. Could there be anything better than gardenias that says, I live in the south?
From just south of the Georgia state line to our handful of acres here on Pollywog Creek - all the days of my life have passed on Florida's sandy-soil where living is seldom in a hurry.
Come summer you'll understand why life in the south moves slow and easy, my husband is fond of informing newcomers and snowbirds.
I might complain about those slow summer days of stifling heat and oppressive humidity, but I'm grateful that the LORD chose to plant my feet in this southern soil - where no, ma'am and yes,sir are signs of respect, sweet ice tea is a major food group, and a bowl of fresh gardenias graces the table.
Have you ever smelled a gardenia?
