I was headed inside when I saw the first one. Of course I stopped, I had to. I picked up the discarded locust shell and began to think about long ago days on Bull Run Road, days when my sisters and I considered these abandoned carcasses to be some of the finest jewelry ever designed.
I needed to go in and shower. I knew I'd be late. Morning devotional on the dock had been checked. Throwing the stinking tennis ball with Dixie Belle until her tongue was dragging had been checked. Being late to events where you're the guest speaker-- never good. But doggone it-- here was another, and there another, and another. Holy moley, I had hit locust jewelry jackpot.
For reasons I still can't explain, I began lining them up on the edge of the flower pot for a photo op. It wasn't easy. Dixie the Curious had her nose all in my business, but I persevered. Out of time concerns, I denied myself the pleasure of going inside for the Jim Dandy camera hubby gave me for Christmas, (sorry Nikon-- I should've given you that plug) and went with the camera phone on my hip instead. And this, is my result. Lucky me. Lucky you? Probably not.
I remember once when an author friend was bemoaning her publicist's insistence that she start blogging. "I'm on constant deadline," she grumbled, "and I'm responsible for so many words already. I don't need to have to produce more."
She had me there. I'm a fairly new blogger, myself. I, too, resisted this idea for the longest time. Never the first one to ride the wave, I turned my huffy back on blogging for the first seven years of All Things Southern's existence, citing the same reluctance to add to the regular pressure of my ever growing deadlines. Her next question, however, fell right into my sights.
"Besides, what will I blog about?" she asked.
I quickly explained that the way I looked at it, this was only an issue if you set the bar too high. (I can hear the Amen corner of this blog's readers now.) Yes, I realize that one can step right over my bar, but let it be known that I am having fun allowing myself the freedom to ramble without direction, to enjoy words without worrying whether an editor will love it/hate it/or scratch it or if a reader will buy it/enjoy it/or burn it. It also brings us back to exhibit A: locust shells.
After I got these little fellas lined up and photographed I realized that the picture was speaking to me. Is it just me, or does it not look like a death march? The world is full of people eager to follow whoever has the ability to lead. I'm not talking politics, either, at least not specifically. I'm thinking about leaders in all walks of life. Leaders can give life, think Christ, and they can push death, think Hitler. I'm thinking if anyone has even the inkling of an idea that they have the gift of leadership, that one should stagger to their knees under the notion-- lest they lead a death march.
And to think, we started with a locust shell.