The Southern Live Oaks stretch their branches over the paths surrounding Forsyth Park. The Spanish Moss hangs off of them like scarves. & The Fountain raises its water toward the sky. The squares throughout the central streets, & the ornate architecture of Antebellum homes. The towering steeples of Churches, & the luscious vitality of River…

From the mayhem of pedestrians on a second Sunday Kings Street fair to the scrumptious Shrimp and Grits Brunch at S.N.O.B on East Bay Street. The Rainbow Row & south of Broad Street elegant houses, the Confluence of the Copper and Ashley Rivers by White Point Gardens, the long loop to and from the old…

Facing the last league of the Long Walk. The blanched branches of the naked-boughed elms and oaks, last sentinels of a long-dried-out forest, lie behind. The broad scope of an undiscovered country awaits. I can lay down my burdens here and proceed no more. Or I can continue to place one foot before another and…

As if it could be any other way… Savoring the sublime through language experiencing the true through language Feeling the heart race at the right word a pulse flutters at such uttered language exhausted yet engaging lyricality beholden to the subtlety of language Delightful to listen to the silence as though that isn’t the first…

Only of a particular variety, one can say… unfit for human consumption cuckhoo cry