In a green pasture with gently undulating hills sloping up towards the trees stood a lone dead tree, its limbs straining towards the sky. On the tips of two of those branches perched vultures, their wings outstretched in the gentle rain. They could have been part of the tree, seen only in silhouette, dark as the branches that they perched on. I wished for my camera, but there would have been no where to stop and pullover (Virginia doesn't believe in shoulders on their roads, and this was a country road near Charlottesville). Times like this I wish I had a camera in my eye, so I could capture these images.
We were driving to Charlottesville to move our daughter into her apartment (she is a first year medical student). I am the master packer in the family, the queen of loading stuff into vehicles. It was a long day and her apartment was on the third floor of the building with no elevator. As we carried things up those stairs I was reminded of all the times that my parents had helped me move, and I suddenly understood how my mother felt when I would breeze buy with an armful of things with a seemingly boundless energy.
At dinner at the Mellow Mushroom (a pizza place within walking distance of her apartment), Amy mentioned that one of the activities that she would be going to next weekend was a wine tasting and a polo match. So I told them about the time when I was a little girl in Pakistan and my father played polo. I ran out onto the field at the end of the match, and he lifted me up to sit in front of him on his horse.
During the drive home we were treated to spectacular displays of lightning from a nearby storm.
We were driving to Charlottesville to move our daughter into her apartment (she is a first year medical student). I am the master packer in the family, the queen of loading stuff into vehicles. It was a long day and her apartment was on the third floor of the building with no elevator. As we carried things up those stairs I was reminded of all the times that my parents had helped me move, and I suddenly understood how my mother felt when I would breeze buy with an armful of things with a seemingly boundless energy.
At dinner at the Mellow Mushroom (a pizza place within walking distance of her apartment), Amy mentioned that one of the activities that she would be going to next weekend was a wine tasting and a polo match. So I told them about the time when I was a little girl in Pakistan and my father played polo. I ran out onto the field at the end of the match, and he lifted me up to sit in front of him on his horse.
During the drive home we were treated to spectacular displays of lightning from a nearby storm.
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