"The Subtle Sign of Sadness"

A few days ago, the library branch I use notified me that my card needed renewing. An annual ritual marked each spring that arrives with Live Oak pollen, Mountain Laurel blooms, and dancing dandelions. I left the message with its bold RED number in my emails, knowing it would nag me relentlessly until I checked this task off my list. 

Entering the library,  I sniffed the scent of books like a hound hungry for meat. For some unacknowledged reason, I’d pulled away from reading over the past few months. Fingers trailing along titles, I realized I’d never finished the final book of a trilogy. My usual goal of reading a favorite author, a new-to-me writer, and a non-fiction piece had died with our frozen winter months. The time of year that usually binds me inside with a book in hand had escaped without a single volume sitting on my bedside. 

Driving home, I thought about how WORDS, my solace and haven, have slipped into  thick and silent shadows. 

People frequently ask, “How are you doing?”

“Fine. I’m fine. How about you?” I reply politely. My thoughts scripted by what I think they want to hear. 

However, I’m not fine. 

WORDS have left me.

MY WORDS.

OTHERS’ WORDS.

My sadness, so subtle that I didn’t notice its presence, silences my day. 

     

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

I'm definitly feeling like IOUNIO's "Lost and Found". 

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"One-hundred Degrees in the Shade"

Dust chases us down the road   

engulfs the car   

swirling like powdered sugar blown from a birthday cake   

coating our sandaled feet as we step into the furnace   

The dogs retreat to bunk bed and chair   

anticipating evening’s approach—   

a breeze, teasing and seductive   

Buffalo grass, brittle reminders of Spring’s bounty   

squat in death   

Cedars, tipped in brown and rust,   

finger summer’s dragon breath in search of moisture   

The naked sky, adorned only by a relentless sun   

yearns for bird song   

Silence, even, languishes in the oppressive heat   

Live Oaks, gnarled limbs supplicating to the cloudless sky   

plea for rain   

Wash away the sins of the world   

 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Before and After”



David and Paul in Live Oak 1988.



Live Oak today!



 

            Our house, built in 1966, lives. Its slow evolution reflects our changing needs along with our shifting styles. Originally shingled with asbestos siding in a muted grey-green, the house now dresses in grey with red trim. The footprint, a mere thousand square feet in the beginning, now sports an addition of a family room, master bedroom, and master bathroom. Landscaping, once immature trees and bushes, towers over the lot. Inside, rooms transformed from plain beige tones to pastel tints to vibrant hues.

 

 

 

           


 I began documenting our home’s progression through photography. In the early years, the transformations appeared as background to our personal growth. In recent years, my camera records a project before we begin and after we finish.

 

 

  

        So many people now-a-days move frequently that they never get the pleasure of watching a small Live Oak reach maturity. They don’t have the opportunity to flourish with their homes. I count myself fortunate that I’ve sunk in roots and grown.

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman