Magic happens, even when you're on the Internet

I am sitting here now, on the back porch of the clubhouse, where I come once or twice a week to do that thing called "checking email." It is one of those perfect late July days: the sky is flawlessly blue, there's a soft breeze that I can both hear and feel, and honestly, it's not too hot.

Here's what I can see:

Over in the field, so many small things flying in big looping circles around each other...they turn out to be dragonflies, hundreds of them. They move toward me; it must be a migratory flock. Big red dragonflies. Oh, my goodness, so beautiful. (Did you see _Pan's Labyrinth_? It's nothing like real life). Now they are gone. I'm glad I was here.

Above me (artifice to support the reality) are two hummingbird feeders. As I've sat here, a regular rotation of hummingbirds comes by to feed. They chirp to catch my attention. The last one a vivid green. I recall once, when I was living in the A-frame, how a hummingbird got trapped inside the glass, beating its wings against the window up near the peak of the roof. I was terrified my cat would catch it (the cat was rapt, watching it, one end of its tail flicking), so I climbed up and caught the hummingbird and took it downstairs to release it. It was weightless, and when I opened my hand, gone in half a second. Nothing but a flicker.

Now there's the tiniest skink I've ever seen, watching me from under the porch railing--black with white stripes and a long long tail. Maybe Gloria can tell me what it really is. I don't know skink from gecko, but I do know magic.

And all I"m doing is checking my email!

I am here now.

I am! I'm here, on Ossabaw.

just wanted to say that.

Ah, Ossabaw memories

Can you still feel the air? Imagine the marsh grass turning golden right about now? Hear the soft cackling of the baby turkeys? Feel the mud between your toes? Time your rhythms to the tugs of the tides, the cycles of the moon?

Or, like me (and Mike, if I may speak for him), is your life timed by the 24/7 cycle of work, dinner, laundry, kids, or the pressures of the academic year, or of work projects and deadlines?

I know there is an oral history project starting up now; I don't know if it would taint the integrity of that research to begin our own dynamic here. But I have just learned to make blog pages, and the first thing that struck me was how wonderful it would be to use a site like this to connect to Ossabaw and to you, and to perhaps begin to retell, collectively, those old stories.

I am moved to do this today by an email thread that Dave Bayne has been circulating. If you are so moved, join me in this project. I can list any old Ossabites (Ossabaw-ites) as members of the blog (which means you can post your own comment. You can also post pictures and links in your messages. Let me know if you want to be a memberr: wwood@wellesley.edu.

Thinking of you, Sandy, Ossabaw....

Wini