Our South Carolina Home

My Driveway is a bed of bronzed pine needles.
Off to the side tiny flowers hide in the grass.
The raccoons eat from the cats' bowl on the neighbor's porch.
In the back yard bits of broken sea shells are scattered amongst the sparse shoots of grass in the sand.
When the tide is low the marsh reminds me of a rolling pasture at my Grampa's New England Farmhouse.
When the tide is high I like to watch the sunrise create dancing colors on the water.
Birds call to each other from the branches of a huge old live oak tree.
Butterflies explore the garden.
I race the dog to get the mail.
She sniffs and pees. I don't.