...

HERE...(huff, puff)...I'm going to simply dump this load of photos and scurry off to the pottery studio. Over the weekend I went away for two and a half days and now I am running at least five days behind.


(Perhaps I'd best toss a few brief explanations over my shoulder as I go.)


Hillmeadow: the name my mother gave to the lovely nine acres where I grew up in southern Virginia. Though she and my dad have moved on to mansions in the sky, they left behind a house which is now sparsely furnished, lots and lots of blooming plants and trees and a pier stretching out into the river that flows ever so faithfully to the sea.

That's where I spent the weekend along with most of the descendants they also left behind (this photo showing only the hatless and hat-wearing handful that remained--and agreed to leave the breakfast table-- when this procrastinator thought to take a snapshot of the bunch on Sunday morning.)


Hillmeadow was at its finest.



There was the tree that once was young with me (perhaps it was young with my grandfather, as well).


The fig bushes preparing for production.



The river.










The river's water fowl.



And then the sunset.


Ah, the sunset.







At the end of the stay, of course, there was the long trip home.


And now the memories.
...