Santa's Helpers Are Subordinate Clauses

Hard to believe it is five days until Christmas. Totally unprepared for the onslaught, I find myself sitting in the camphor alcove watching the big red tail hawk. She swoops in about 11:00, settles herself on the river arch and lunches on something in the rye grass. Lizards? Snakes? I can't tell from the alcove. Her feathers are red gold and black. When she swoops away, her white undertail is a banner flying against the St.Johns blue gray.

She reminds me of the post Vietnam year when I produced my first born child, raised a red tail hawk in the guest room and tried to be a good Mrs. Lieutenant.

Mother Nature and Father Time

The winter sky over the garden this morning is mother of pearl gray. We have had four inches of rain in one day and the rye grass is drinking it up. Everything is green and gray with only the brave narcissus poking its cluster of white flowers into the air. Yes, everything in the garden is the offspring of Mother Nature and Father Time with perhaps me as the clumsy midwife.