©John Zillioux All Rights Reserved

Its Christmas in the Low Country.  Clear cold nights with shadows from moss-draped oak covering the ground cast by a bright, cloudless star-filled sky. The smell of wood smoke that gently drifts over the brown Spartina grass that lines the tidal creeks and surrounds the islands. On evening dog walks, the silence is broken only by the crunch of the long dry, long fallen Autumn leaves under foot and the occasional distant bark from a startled fox or the call of a single great owl. Inside; stockings are hung and presents are under the trimmed tree – in the background, Tom Waits plays a 1935 Gershwin tune grinding out the beautiful DuBose Heyward lyrics with his gravely tones  ….   Merry Christmas