Jackson, Mississippi, March 1914
Photographer Albert Fred Daniel (yes, that is three first names) captured Capitol Street as it disappear underwater from the spilled banks of Town Creek, literally making the town a creek.
Oscar Lamb Sales took a huge hit, as well as the Heidelburg building movie house (ironically showing an epic about the Titanic), which reported its organ and all its seats total losses. The boardinghouse proprietor below tries to keep track of several of the boys who found wading in the cesspool an absolute delight.
Returning home from an errand this morning, I drove slowly, due to low visibility. I noticed the fog coating the nearby cemetery and turned in.
I saw wreaths in the trees and wreaths by the gravestones.
Statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mary.
Little hands clasped in prayer.
Heartbreaking resting places for little ones.
Uplifting seasonal signs for others.
I was up at 5:45am Sunday morning. It was still dark outside, and I tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. It was the first morning at our Hot Springs, Arkansas VRBO rental, and I wanted to see the sunrise. I pulled a jacket over my pajamas and headed down the back steps to catch the first rays of sun peek out through the tall pine trees.
The rest of the family was still snug in their beds, but I got to enjoy the majesty of the dawn.
The sunlight lit up the mist on the lake, and I watched the ducks glide by.
We were still in the shade, but the sun hit just beyond the neighbor’s dock.
Then it lit up the shore like a fire.
And the whole neighborhood turned golden.
I had to toss my son’s long, pointed umbrella last night, as it finally gave up the ghost. The white plastic pieces on the shaft had gone brittle and cracked. It must have been 20 years old, and it took up several feet of space, not having been invented during the collapsible, compact years.
They mustn’t make them like that anymore, as our newer, smaller umbrella ribs can’t seem to last longer than a set of tires, and they certainly snap in a solid wind.
However, we live in Texas, where it rains as many fingers as I have per year. It’s enough to make us want to run out and dance in it–and we have! But never to this extent.