Today is Sunday, so rather than talk about art, I think I will use this day to post some. Mary Oliver, the Pulitzer Prize winner for poetry, also lives on an island. Her poems take me to that quiet Sunday kind of place. And, rice, of course, looms large in Lowcountry history.
Rice
by Mary Oliver
It grew in the black mud.
It grew under the tiger’s orange paws.
Its stems thicker than candles, and as straight.
Its leaves like the feathers of egrets, but green.
The grains cresting, wanting to burst.
Oh, blood of the tiger.
I don’t want you to just sit at the table.
I don’t want you just to eat, and be content.
I want you to walk into the fields
Where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.
I want you to stand there, far from the white tablecloth.
I want you to fill your hands with mud, like a blessing.
I was called to be an artist. And as an old old midwife said to me "If the Lord wants you to do something, you won't have no good luck' til you do." So, here I am, sharing what I love, longing to illuminate the work of art, which is everywhere.
Charleston Through an Artist's eye 
awesome poem…thanks for posting. i see wild rice every day around here in georgetown. and the pluff mud is baptismal!!