Friday, Nov. 1:  Walking down Water Street, Belhaven, North Carolina, walking my little dog, Mazu, I feel the the tall southern pine with 8” long pine needles just starting to shed and smell the smell of the south: musty humidity, green, warmth. This is the southern lowlands with the Pungo River lapping at ground level across the street, a wall of rippling dark blue meeting the tree lined shore on the other side, and then a cloudy sky spotted with blue fills in the picture.

   The yards have beautiful tall, shiny, dark, green leaved magnolias one with a two-person swing on a low branch or live oaks with Spanish moss hanging down in places.   The homes are old style south, no swimming pools, just 2 stories with porches all around on each floor, brick-a-brack at the corners leading up to the porch with grand staircases and classic clapboard homes; one in white with yellow shutters and turquoise porch chairs. 

   They are surrounded by berry bushes of all kinds, leafless rose shrubs in all colors, and holly trees laden with red berries.  It’s slow and easy with few cars, and one school bus flashes its red lights to let off a student.  A baby is in a swing hanging from the sky blue ceiling on a porch, giggling, parents cooing.

  As dusk comes night the warmth still allows the calls of Katydids and crickets. 

  Everyone I pass says, “afternoon,”  People look me in the eye begging contact and connection one way or the other.  So do I.