January in Georgia tends to be cold, and wet.
Always, during this season, I find myself homesick for Spring in Savannah,
and on my Island....
and on my Island....
And, the mysterious places.
There are places on my Island,
Magical...and Spiritual.
Where sometimes, the lines between reality,
and imagination, become blurred.
Where the scent of plough mud,
and salt water,
often unpleasant to others,
suddenly becomes a perfume to the soul.
A balm of Gilead.
Where it sometimes seems that time
really does stand still.
And, memories linger.....
This place, I dream about...
On a cold, wet January day.
