Today would have been my mother's 112th birthday; she's been gone 33 years. Good grief, those are impressive numbers. Mother left me a legacy of love of words. I've mentioned before how, on our many road trips when I was a kid, she would point out something and ask how many ways I could describe it using just one word. For example: butte, mesa, plateau all refer to an uprising of earth on the plains. Probably because of her approaching birthday, I got to thinking about the imagery of words while cleaning stalls yesterday. Just one word can create a picture, a sound, a taste, a smell in your mind. Listen to cacophony or tremolo. Smell vinegary or lemony, or gingerbread. See the difference between gleaming and gloaming. Love and hate evoke emotions. Words are powerful tools.
Not eager to overextend activities after the headache of the day before, piddly chores were in order, with plenty of breaks. On one of our outings to the deck, Bessie Anne and I sat down to watch four deer in a sylvan setting (down by the edge of the woods, as it were). Migraines amplify sound. After an enforced day of quiet, Bess evidently required a little excitement. Watching the deer browse on newly sprouted oak leaves and graze on verdant slopes got too much for her and she took off around the deck and headed toward the deer. Not in the least afraid, the deer obligingly played the game and moved off into the woods. That was enough for Bess and she came back to me. I'm not sure if the herd was thumbing their nose at the dog or proving they felt safe here, but a few minutes later all four were feeding down in the front pasture.
I took some good photos yesterday which, unfortunately, I cannot share until I get the cellphone and the computer back on speaking terms. I fear that's going to take a trip to the AT&T store for some professional help. One of these days. In the meantime, I'll try to draw pictures with words.