The Low Country

The Low Country

It isn’t the light, seeping through the tops of the trees like honey,

 gathering in golden puddles here and there amongst the shady pools of the pines.

  It isn’t even the fragrance: the tea olive, the jasmine, the sea.

  No, it is the Sound that transforms this sandy pathway through the maritime forest into a transport to myth, a passage through legend.  Heralding a storm, the wind blows in, threading through the trees in blue-grey ribbons that twist the palms and palmettos into a raspy rattling orchestra, ever increasing in volume, a deafening crescendo of forest music. 
 I close my eyes and turn to meet it face to face as a gift, a blessing.

Strains of ancient melodies are heard as it passes, 

low pitched as murmurs,  lyrical notes of the Gullah and the Owl. 

We do not hear these sounds at home.

 The big white dog, his fur ruffled, stops suddenly,

 one front paw raised as a finger to his lips. 

Hush! 

 There, through the trees, a family of deer, wide-eyed and pure,

 stands frozen in our gaze.

  Eyes meet, chasms breach, then as suddenly as age,

 they disappear into the crowd of gnarled trunks and paper leaves.  

Just under the sand, dazzling green lizards zip away on thoroughfares only they know, 

a glimpse of emerald here, and there.

We do not see these sights at home.

They call this land the Low Country, a region that sits serenely in the palm of the earth’s hand, so close to the shallows of the sea that grasses and salt water intertwine like clasped hands.  Here, ballad and rhyme rise up through the very ground one walks upon.   Mystery becomes fable; fable becomes truth.  Almost without cognition, one senses the fragrance of the air enter the body like an idea.  It winds and flows through the soul - slowing, smoothing - till peace becomes the order of the day.  

 Our walks become longer and longer. 

 We dine on fresh raspberries and cheese.

We know we shall return to the world of tension and technology before too long.  

But not now.  

Not now.

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Edward, Apple and I have just returned from a week long escape while the floors of our cottage were being re-done.  A messy business and one ill-suited to life with two big furry dogs, one of whom is recuperating from knee surgery.  Apple is doing quite well and a hearty thank you to all who have inquired about her.  I took her on prescribed therapeutic walks on sandy pathways three times a day whilst we were gone; Edward, naturally, required much longer ones.  This meant, of course, that yours truly was taking six walks a day and is now in fine fettle herself!  Below is a photo of Apple the day her stitches were removed.  Very happy girl.