Did you know that today, April 25, is Independent Bookstore Day here in the U.S.?
“One Day. Fifty States. 2,000+ Bookstores.
JOIN US FOR THE 13TH ANNUAL INDEPENDENT BOOKSTORE DAY!
This national one-day party held the last Saturday in April celebrates independent bookstores across the country online and in-store. Through exclusive books and literary items, contests, cupcakes, and everything in between, it’s a party you don’t want to miss.”bookweb.org
To celebrate, Robert and I ventured over to one of our very favorite local bookstores here in Savannah, The Stacks.
Friendly bookseller Oren
We had a grand time connecting with other book lovers.
Recently Robert and I were driving back from a day adventure at the fascinating Webb Wildlife Management Area in Garnett, SC when we looked off to the right and saw this …
Yes, I know, the scene is difficult to see clearly. So HR pulled to the side of the road, and we walked nearer.
But the brush was SO thick, and we couldn’t get very close.
Recently Robert and I visited Southern Belle Farms in McDonough GA. Walking to the side of their fabulous country market, HR yelled, “Neal, look! Baby Jesus on a truck!”
And sure enough, as I got closer, I saw them—all the stars of the traditional crèche: Mary, Joseph and the Baby. The Three Wise Men. An Angel. A Shepherd and his Sheep.
All mounted on an old school farm truck!
Robert started pointing and giving a little impromptu lecture about the various Nativity personnel, as if I were a toddler new to Sunday School.
Mentally asleep for a while in his mansplaining words, I finally woke up and asked, “What do you think happened to Mary’s left arm?”
“Neal, you’re missing the whole point of the display!” he sputtered as he huffed off toward the Kettle Corn stand.
I stood there for a while, pondering about what was missing. Until I finally followed the buttery scent to the Kettle Corn and to Robert.
Robert and I were walking through Telfair Square here in Savannah last night after dinner. The statue-laden Telfair Academy (the first public art museum in the South, 1888) shone incandescently, perhaps a bit eerily, exuding both pride and remorse in our city’s problematic past.
I paused and gazed up into the heavy, meandering limbs of the ancient Live Oak trees, limbs laden with both desiccated (for now) resurrection fern and new, brilliant green spring leaves.
Death and life together.
The street light could not illuminate all their crevices.
“Some of these trees have to be older than the academy itself,” I thought, as we walked out of the past. “If only trees could talk!”
A light breeze kneaded the old and the new together, causing an audible whispering in the leaves.