the house was built a hundred years ago by my great great uncle. mom and dad have lived here nearly thirty years. boxwood, camellia, and magnolia grow close around.

early morning light gets beneath the deep porch roofs.

i usually wake up first, just before dad, and walk the pine floors in bare feet. a charcoal of my brother hangs beside the grandfather clock.

most of the window glass is original, making for liquid light.

mom and dad slept for years in the cannonball bed, which is now in an upstairs guest room.

birds perch on one of the seven mantels.

when i’m here without jb, i sleep in the smallest upstairs room. it’s just big enough for a single iron bed and doubles as mom’s sewing room.

 

fruit is laid out on the side porch, ready to be chopped into ambrosia.

mom is the next one up. i painted the kitchen 25 years ago. it’s holding up okay.

 

jefferson cups waiting to be laid out, nestled in paper towels to keep them from scratching.

a mishmash of breakfast stuff.

next time: the house fills up, afternoon light and naps.