Tuesday, April 19, 2011


Tonight I drift off to sleep listening to a historical documentary about John Muir.  The night breeze rustles my curtains.

He was a a nature man who walked across America in the late 1800s sketching  in his book as he traveled throughout the land.

This room in my old rock house is in his honor as I named it "the nature room" the minute I saw it.

It has vintage butterfly prints, old turtle shells, and a cross made with loving hands from bleached drift wood adorned with beads and silver from Peruvian Indians.

Along his walk, Muir spent a night in the Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah.

I was just there last week.

I wonder if we stood in the same place, amazed by the same grand moss draped oaks and melancholy marble angels.

I wonder if he ever imagined that his world would someday be brought to life to be shared across his beloved America...in a box...with sound...and photos?  Technology that broadcasts his marvelous writings and simple message of nature and beauty of his world...while someone like me...drifts off to sleep hearing the words he was compelled to pen. 

Eloquent words that connect me to him and us to the melancholy marble angels.
Somehow, I think he knew.

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