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CONT'D:

MY BREATHING HAD SLOWED. My brain had that swimmy feeling it gets when it's about to drift into the Land of Nod. The panorama of stars overhead was quietly twinkling on me (though I could only believe that to be true, of course--I was no longer watching). Very suddenly, then, not twenty feet away from where I so recently had surmised that a snake was my biggest worry, came the sound of something fighting for its life. There were shrieks and little screams and agonized sounds of struggle. And, even more ghastly, there were loud snarls, vicious growling, flesh-ripping and lip smacking noises. Well, I don't know for sure about the lip-smacking, but it was pretty clear that Mr. High-on-the-Chain was relishing his midnight snack of poor little Lower-on-the-Chain.

I will pause while my heart skips a beat, and then I will tell you that you likely never saw a queen-sized air mattress, a flimsy blanket, and a pillow sail through an open sliding screen door with quite such speed; and, leading the way, a shadowy pajama-clad figure who's thanking her lucky stars (which, even with her eyes wide open, she can no longer now see) that she herself was not the late-night delicacy considered for consumption!

After some time spent studying just exactly how high on the chain this wild Mr. High might be, and what the chances were that he was still hankering for an entree, and would find a flimsy screen door no impediment whatsoever to making it me, I commenced to lie awake a few more hours before finally sleeping. Needless to say, it was a short and restless night, in which I dreamed of a wild boar-like creature with the legs of a turkey and very ferocious.*

I have just told you, Reader Dear, what I've got to say about the most unpleasant part of the whole extended weekend, and thus it's time you hear (but mostly see) what made it delightful:



The pier.



The high tide.





The rippling river water.






..........................................................................................The bright orange berries on the walk to the cemetery.





The pine grove between the house and the river.













The pine trees streaking
the afternoon sun.





The Saturday evening dinner at the very same restaurant as Friday night, but with a different waitress,
and a different brother, too.




The Sunday visit to Williamsburg.















Colonial Williamsburg, that is.
(not far away).














And again, the river. The sunset.



Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

















But you will see more of it tomorrow, Dear Reader,
if you'll come back just one more time.
I promise.


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