It has been a week ago yesterday that I slipped away for a little “sort of” adventure, for myself.
Let me preface this story, by saying that after a “girls trip” plan began to fall apart, I was stuck with a decision to make. That decision was whether to take off on the drive alone, or give up the trip altogether. I did not like the later alternative, but lacking faith that I could get from point A to point B without hopelessly losing my way, I decided to stick to my plan and I was rewarded for my bravery by having a fantastic time with perfect sunshine filled days and special, important quality time with my oldest child.
Somehow I managed to raise three courageous children who are successful and dauntless in the pursuit of their goals and happiness. So, I ask, how could the mother of these children find herself sitting in my position? But here I sat.
Taking my first baby step in traveling, I am feeling pretty “bad ass” about the whole event. (Which makes the kids roll their eyes-because it is a pretty straightforward trip) I find myself ready to embark again, soon.
In the course of these last few weeks I have not been painting, perhaps you will appreciate my efforts with the camera in lieu of painting? I hope so.
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| Thursday Evening after the storms the waves were quite fearsome to behold |
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| Folly Beach Area A Extra Large Cowry/Cowrie Shell-even though the back is missing, the shell is awesome! |
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| Morris Island Shell Excursion-beatiful intrique tree |
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| Edisto Island Beach-Sunday exploration trip |
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| Edisto Island |
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| Pink Colored Sea Barnacles attached to the underside of the rocks at Edisto |
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| Entrance to Private Property Flanked by two large old trees adorned with spanish moss |
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| Another Angle of the spanish moss festooned trees changed to b&w image |
I will leave you with this, my favorite poem by John Masefield:
Sea Fever
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Peace, Valerie
Peace, Valerie