What a great day! It’s warm and cool at the same time. The sun is hot and bright but the air is cool and breezy. Perfect. I launched myself into the daylight toward town this morning on a wave of optimism and joy. Heading to the Post Office I checked my box and Lo! another Netflix flick was in, “Mostly Martha.” It’s the original version of the recent remake with Catherine Zeta-Jones, “No Reservations.” I bought a paper copy of the local newspaper, Madison County Journal, always a good read, and then headed to Cup of Karma Cafe for a muffin.
A few gal pals were in there so I stopped briefly by the table to say hi, [they are so nice!] and I then eagerly headed to the counter to choose a muffin.
This must be done with all pomp and circumstance, for I lay my kudos down at the Muffin Altar of Greatliness. The chefs bake them on site and I don’t know what they do, but they are the best muffins in the world! Which kind, you ask. All of them! It does not matter. Today I got a blueberry bran and along with my thermos of coffee I’d brought, then headed to the Comer Farmer’s Market.
Ahhh! The joy of buying fresh produce that’s organic, local, and this early in the season will never fade. Never! I bought the cutest baby turnips, purchased for the sole reason that they were:
and some freshly picked lettuce. Lunch: salad. But first, a mini-drive.
On Saturdays, I love turning on the music, feeling the breeze on my cheek, placing a thermos of coffee in the beverage holder, and driving unknown roads. Stopping at yard sales, pulling over to enjoy a scene, finding farm stands … sadly, though, my rambling days have been long-curtailed due to the price of gas, but today I decided to take a tiny, tiny detour home. The Lystra Church and Cemetery was calling.
Old Lystra Curch Road is around the corner from my house, down a long red dirt road with no houses around and very quiet deep in the country. The property is reputed to be haunted, and though the church is no longer standing (torched by vandals) the cemetery is there in the middle of a hilly clearing. The grass is grown up high and only the taller gravestones poke above the grass and wildflowers. Others are tilted crazily due to frost heaves, or broken and deliberately pushed over. I snapped some interesting and if I say so, nicely composed photos but the sun was high and they are all washed out with hard edges. I am going back at dusk for better light. Ghosts notwithstanding! The ghost stories for Lystra are pervasive and constant so I will not linger. But at high noon with the drone of bees and wildflowers waving in the gentle breeze I took my time and walked all the way in, passing through the dilapidated gate with ease.