"...memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead"

Two hampers of clean laundry are standing sentinel at either end of my desk like Gog and Magog (not the Biblical reference, but rather like the china dogs that guarded the mantel in Anne's House of Dreams). Clean laundry makes me content. Granted, there is still half a hamper of dirty laundry in my closet (I can never completely catch up because there are only two washers for my three loads of clothing), but what is dirty laundry on a day like today? Three fourths of my clothes are clean, I cleared out my closet, and I am currently endeavoring to make the room generally spotless. I am caught up on all assignments, and if all goes well, I will get a jump-start on Thursday's astronomy project. The cool air and sounds of animation floating through my open window have been serving to energize and inspire.

I was basking in the warm sunshine earlier and was amazed by the flood of familiarity that took hold. The steady breezes this afternoon made me long for the striking charm of St. Simon's Island or the well-known enchantment of Charleston. I love coastal regions that can boast a significant dose of historical integrity. New Orleans should probably qualify, too, but only because they have the best food (I'm afraid I visited at a bad time; the Deep South historical beauty was somewhat blighted).

As soon as my longing for the coast hit, however, I was seized by the memory of home. I always feel torn between dream (the flat, sandy, rugged beauty of the low lands) and reality (the lush, rolling splendor of the warm Appalachian foothills). I remembered the dancing of my bedroom curtains as I knelt before my open window. Through the fenetre drifts the pleasant laughter of neighborhood children and the comforting hum of my Dad;s lawnmower. I am transported to the top of my driveway where the sun casts friendly shadows on the front lawn. As darkness invades, the lights of my abode grow brighter, serving as a beacon to welcome me back.

Accompanying these strains were various memories of days that merited equal perfection. Lounging in the warm glow of afternoon on front campus, strolling through time on the streets of Madison, frolicking innumerable occasions at Stone Mountain, gazing at the endless multitude of celestial beings, waking in contentment to sunshine and a chorus of birds... There are too many to record, so I will save time and effort by ending my memoirs here.

Most classes are finished for the day, and the buzz of activity has ceased...