I still can’t believe I live in Georgia. The thought hits me as the insect hum and sauna-like humidity greet me on the porch. An orangish, pumpkin moon hovers on the horizon, welcoming me to another southern evening. I’m trying out the screenless front porch tonight, lounging on the L-shaped couch that, just yesterday, sat in the back. If you know me, you know I have a bit of an interior designer streak—I can’t stand leaving a chair, table, or lamp in one spot without “just seeing” how it looks somewhere else.
I’m decompressing, listening to the occasional car drive by. I’m really excited about my upcoming SiteOne nursery visit to pick out plants. I’m thinking of a couple of Japanese maples and anything that attracts pollinators—bees and butterflies. Also on the list are hummingbirds and bird feeders to lure the cardinals and mockingbirds from the high branches to a more strategic, viewable spot.
That moon can’t be real. It’s so big and is staring at me like its Earth’s giant eyeball, as if it knows everything about me. I’m not a fan of oversized things—like massive shipping containers squeezing through narrow waterways, or those images where planets are scaled next to each other. It gives me the same chills as nails on a chalkboard or ripping Styrofoam.
I need some serious sleep. I almost said “lbs” to quantify how much rest I need, like I’m measuring sleep in pounds. I wish there were a metric for sleep that wasn’t just hours. Something different. Like sheep, but measured in “sh’s” or… something. I digress.
The longer I write, the more I take away from my sh’s. And I really need them tonight.
I hope you’ll forgive me for calling it early. Love you!
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 