I love the dusk to take Lacey for her walk.
I will miss the warm sweet smelling summer nights. The sounds of the night creatures chirping and peeping, their song filling the night air.
I walk along the block, houses lit up, people on porches in swings waving from behind a myrtle tree.
Lacey prances so proudly when they compliment her. She knows when they speak of her, I can't help but laugh at her canine antics.
The 'backside' of the block we walk is along the harbor. This is Lacey and my favorite place, the boat harbor. Not the fancy yachts at the end of the road, with white caps on their piers to keep the birds from landing.
No, we love the crabbin' boats named after wives and daughters of this God fearing town. They rest for the night, rocking themselves gently to sleep as they have to rise up and chortle early.
The red clouds, yellow sun and purple horizon always makes me glad I ventured out. I stand a moment and watch the slow changing colors, the laughter of the gulls and I nearly pinch myself at my blessings.
Lacey looks outward and back to me, she doesn't see what I see, she wonders if I would like to run and chase the gulls, because she certainly would like to. She gets a bit antsy so we move along.
Past the lively boat yard and up to the newly built town houses, set on the beach, away from the road, their tall elegant black gates warning Lacey and I of any gesture of invasion.
People used to drive to the end of the lane, before the town houses came and feed stale bread to the birds and watch the sun rise or set.
That is forbidden now.
The New community doesn't like it and so they own the right of way. A public road shut off from the rest.
Oh, It's pretty in there, but it isn't natural. It is bought and purchased and placed and revamped. The people there are not waving, are not friendly, and it is a shame.
They came here to be a part of this beauty we have, but they don't want to blend.
Today there was talk that they are trying to prevent the crabbers from leaving so early in the morning because it is too noisy.
Shame on them. Shame that they come to own and take, not give and share.
I sigh as we round the bend away from the new and back to the people who greet and love, who I have grown to adore. Quaint homes built to survive strong winds and yet Adirondack chairs flank the sides and garden flowers nod as you pass. Windows have soft curtains and most have candles glowing warmly from the inside outward.
We take the last bend, and are now our own street. Lacey picks up pace as she knows where we are headed. I look around at homes that house people who know pieces of my sweet husband's childhood.
I am envious of any memories of my man. He was a wonderful child. He was both wild and woolly and sweet and kind. People speak of him with a light in their eyes and a smile on their lips. They laugh about his antics and compliment his generous spirit. I feel proud when they speak, I want to walk like Lacey does and prance in glee over the good words, but I am not Lacey, I will smile and store the memories.
We now pass the house that his best friend lived in as he grew up, then past his momma's house, who I have grown to love dearly, and past our friendly, meticulous neighbor, and up to our door.
This was his Nanna's home. He spent many days here while his parents worked the store. Now it is our home. We add our love to it's four walls. Matthew's grandpa and dad had built this home together, I would not want to live elsewhere.
This is our Home and I am blessed.
