Pink and fuchsia Japanese magnolia trees are blooming in winter. The yellow blossoms of Carolina Jasmine twine on a fence near the cemetery at Elmwood where Flora, the piano partner of my childhood is being put to rest. She was a beautiful short, round little girl with long flaxen hair cascading down her back, a talented and manic pianist. We were paired by Jumpy, our music teacher, to play duos and duets every year in the State Music Festivals. Flora played the treble part and I played the accompanying part. Flora was the prima donna, there was no question about that. I can remember those plump little fingers flying over the keys.
Russian Orthodox priests and prelates in gold and garnet robes are down by the Gervais Street Bridge performing the Theophany, the Blessing of the Waters. I walk up and over and across the bridge to watch the muddy, full Congaree rushing below, full to overflow from the rains coming down from the mountains and upstate. The river is so full that DNR and police are present on the banks and walkers and runners are turned back down the riverwalk where the waters have risen many feet and flooded the crossings.
Two girls sit on top of a picnic table partially submerged. Turning back, I meet James' pregnant preschool teacher starting out. A little boy on a bike stops to tell us about his dog's one bent ear.
The river rushes on, tumbling and swirling, sparkling, deep and mysterious.
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