I freakin' love these things. We had one in the yard growing up. Mama bought it on a lark. The leaves popped out in the spring, they grew, they died, and we forgot about it until later, much later, in the early fall, one day, we'd wake up, and there would be the gossamer red bloom, springing unannounced, unheralded from the dying, if not already dead, grass that we'd probably mow anyway.
So here I am in Charleston, the one in South Carolina, and let me tell SC now that it would do well to better emulate Charleston. I got lucky. How often do we go somewhere one might really choose to be, and then also have a spare couple of hours in which to rent a bike and see something worth seeing? Those times are few and far between, let me tell you.
And what do I do but wade through ancient graveyards. Yes, I'm weird that way, but you knew that already, and what do I espy with my little eye this day? A cemetery of tight graves and tiger lilies.
Here is the first to catch my eye. I thought it might be an anomaly, something planted by a grieving soul over a century ago, here now to brighten my unexpected day, which it did sans initial intent.
What have we become in this pursuit of progress?
And then, with the turn of a single step, a line of simple beauty fading in the light of early fall.
I need to live here.