Monday, July 24, 2006
Katydids in Cloudland
As the sun sets on Cloudland Canyon, the sound of the Katydids conquers the air and pulses through the forest.
Not the sound of missiles and bombs, not the chatter of mid-Eastern potentates, not the bombast of politicians, not the cries of the civilians lost in the crossfire, not the horns of angry drivers, not the noise of the dying world,
just the Katydids.
Our cabin was our sanctuary this past weekend. Our nieces played with their puppy, Geisha. The girls told stories of their week in Atlanta at camp. As they slept, we drank Pedron Tequila with their parents and talked of our upcoming journey to Puerto Vallarta. On day two, Starr arrived, we dined at the Canyon Grill, and drank champagne.
During that halcyon weekend, we hiked down to the base of the two waterfalls. We talked well into the night as we sat in the rocking chairs on the screen porch. We saw deer, including a speckled Bambi roadside. Meanwhile, we all listened to the Katydids.
Next stop: Night of the Iguana.