Sweet September Memories

Fire on the mountains,
sweet September memories.
Looping across Cherohala skyway
in Daddy's old black Ford.

A magical time,
my parents and I
taking a joy ride
on Sunday afternoon.

Work can wait
on the farm,
time with family
can not wait.

I look down
on the rideline
burning like hickory
sticks in the fireplace.

We stop at the overpass,
eat a moonpie and RC Cola,
a whippoorwill whistles
and the cool breeze

brushes my face.
Daddy and Mama smile,
I feel their unconditional love:
work can wait!

                  --Brenda Kay Ledford

My sister, Barbara, Daddy, Mama,
front row:  little Brenda and brother, Harold.

Good Neighbors

Just as I finished my breakfast, the sun broke through a bundle of cotton clouds.  Rays skipped across a ribbon of mountains, and poured lemon juice on my kitchen.

Something clicked in my kitchen.  It wasn't the clock on my stove.  "Oh, no!  Something's torn up again," I moaned.

I noticed the little solar-powered flowers on the windowsill waving their hands.  Click.  Click.  Click.  The daisies were dancing a jig in the sunshine.

I smiled and thought it would be a good day.  I heard a mower humming.  I glanced out the window and our neighbor pulled into the drive.

Mr. Wimpey asked if we needed any fresh vegetables:

Tomatoes red as rubies,
the aroma of hot peppers,
visions of fried okra!

"Oh, yes!  We would love some vegetables," I said.  I was grateful that our neighbors had thought of us and had graciously shared their garden produce with us.

Until recently, Mama raised a garden every year.  She enjoyed sharing her vegetables with family and friends.

As she said, "There's nothing like stepping out your back door and picking fresh vegetables from the garden.

Thanks to our good neighbors, we can still savor fresh, mountain-grown vegetables straight from the garden.

I had a feeling it would be a good day, and it was a great day!

Echoes of Fall

As I wash the breakfast dishes, I glance out the window.  A cornfield rolls like waves on the ocean, fog lifts from the misty mountains.  Wild turkeys feast on the grain and clouds float as sailboats through azure skies.

Katydids scrape their fiddles and a scarlet leaf flutters on the dogwood tree.  McIntosh apples plop to the ground.  Honeysuckle perfumes a breeze.

I gasp.  Fall's coming and I can't hold it back.  Summer has been too hot, humid, and short.  It seems as through school just closed, and school buses will roar again.  Time marches like a band.

The drumbeat of this season!  Bee keepers harvest their honey.  The shelves of roadside markets glow with golden Mason jars.

Yesterday I stopped at the Misty Mountain Roadside Market.  Queen Ann's lace spun doilies beside the market.

A man greeted me.  "Sample this spoonful of honey," he said.  "This wildflower honey is better for allergies than sourwood honey."

I savored the sweet offering and purchased a quart.  I baked biscuits this morning and smothered them with butter and honey.

Besides honey, fall brings cooler weather.  What a relief from the heat.  I won't grieve the passing of summer.  Soon it will be only a page of history.

The echoes of fall! 

"This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it," (Psalm 118:24).

Summer, fall, winter, or spring; each season has its beauty!

Sunflowers

After days of rain in the Blue Ridge Mountains, I wondered if the sun would ever shine again.  Everyone I met complained about the rain.  They complained because the fireworks were cancelled at many places during the Fourth of July.  They complained because they had to stay inside, couldn't enjoy picnics or a parade.  How God puts up with us humans complaining, I'll never know.  I even added some complaints myself into the mix.

God is faithful.  The sun peeked through the clouds, blue skies spread a tent above the earth, and I was amazed.  The sunflowers lifted their faces to the heavens and drank cups filled with sunshine. I ran outside and got a good dose of vitamin D.  What a blessing to see the sun again. 

Darkness just has to flee in the presence of light.

Tiger Lilies

After a storm,
the earth bathed in light,
clouds float in bright skies;
tiger lilies pulse on a breeze.

Lawns humming with mowers,
mountains unfurl royal ribbons,
poplars catch sunrays'
after the storm.

Plants popping up in gardens,
raindrops glitter on grass,
Hyatt-Mill Creek murmurs;
the earth bathed in light.

A time to rejoice,
fog lifts from Brasstown Valley,
the windchimes ringing;
clouds float in bright skies.

By the little river,
a Monarch butterfly
dips down and touches
tiger lilies pulsing on a breeze.
         --Brenda Kay Ledford

Butterfly

Fairy of the flowers
with wings of spun glass,
you flit about the grass
and land on my hand.

Small pearls hang in poplars,
honeysuckle perfumes a breeze,
the swallowtail zigzagging--
fairy of the flowers.

Drinking the marigold's mystery,
there are jewels on your body,
you flutter in the air
with wings like spun glass.

When wild strawberries droop
on the woodland trail,
and the rain crow lifts songs,
you flit about the grass.

In shimmering robes of silk
that catch the sunlight,
you fold your wings
and land on my hand.
                       --Brenda Kay Ledford

ODE TO THE IRIS

You march into May
splashing rainbows on roadbanks,
an emblem of kings;
you outrank the rose.

Clouds float like angels
over fields of wildflowers,
taking your place at spring;
you march into May.

Lifting your face to the sun,
a Monarch butterfly sips nectar
from the crystal fountain
splashing rainbows on roadbanks.

On the heels of tulips,
the iris stands as a sentinel,
keeps time with the drumbeat;
an emblem of kings.

A time to everything,
the mourning dove cooing;
with majesty you flare out
and outrank the rose.
             --Brenda Kay Ledford