When You See the Spanish Moss
Southern reflections in Charleston.
South Carolina smelled like the sea, like thick summer air, and like something else that made my shoulders instantly relax. My belly had grown even larger with our daughter and I was ready for some time to breathe. I wanted to close my eyes on a windswept beach, sand beneath my feet, and listen to the sound of waves breaking in front of me.
The next five days were a blur of beautiful moments. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so free since I became pregnant this past winter. We walked down grassy paths to wide open coastline, wandered into little coffee shops, held hands as we roamed on cobblestone streets, and gathered seashells in the water as we talked about the future.
Our ancient bed and breakfast was easily one of my favorite things about our holiday. She was a majestic gem, built sometime in the 1700’s, that carried all the magic and charm of the south that I could imagine. The old wooden floors whispered with years and the green vines talked and tangled all around each other in the backyard terrace. Every afternoon there was ice cold sweet tea, pimento cheese sandwiches, and mini baked cinnamon cheesecakes that appeared in the sitting room that I couldn’t eat enough of. And each night, I slept long and hard on the most wonderfully plush (yet firm) mattress. I never wanted to leave.
“You see that dear, hanging from the trees? It’s moss. They say that when you see the Spanish moss, you know you’re in the south.”
I smiled when I overheard this remark as Dan and I were exploring the city. It’s true: the moss hung everywhere on the trees. It looked delicate, almost placed, as if the town of Charleston decorated each tree for us like most towns do with Christmas lights. I wondered how the moss survived. It looked so fragile, being draped on branches that swayed in the wind.
I took a big breath in and exhaled, closing my eyes as I thought about this. Hand on my belly, I thought to myself that all things are fragile, really. All that is delicate depends on each other to live, survive, and last in this life.
I looked beside me to Dan, who smiled. I looked down at my daughter, who is still inside of me. I looked up at the Spanish moss, dancing in the air. I felt so light in that moment that I myself almost floated away in the wind, in that deliciously freeing southern breeze.
Beautiful description