So why should I fear the future? For I'm being pursued only by Your goodness and unfailing love.~Psalm 23: 6 (The Passion Bible)

Last week I learned I placed first in an essay writing contest sponsored by my town. The writing prompt for the essay was Why Summerville? Here's what came to mind:

COMFORT ON NORTH CEDAR STREET

I hadn't planned on moving to Summerville. Didn't know much about the town, only that pink azaleas bloomed indefatigably in April and that it was about twenty-five miles from Charleston. I was in transition, free from the obligation of an eight-to-five grind. Retirement at last after a thirty-year stint in my field. There was a problem, though. Almost no condominiums were for sale in the Lowcountry. When I called my realtor to look at a property, usually someone had already made an offer, and much of the time that offer was over the asking price. Real estate was scarce during the Pandemic. 

Then an opportunity to buy a home opened in Summerville. I felt ambivalent about moving. I had lived in Charleston for eleven years. I'd been only a few miles from Folly Beach and downtown Charleston lay just over the bridge. I'd grown accustomed to walking down to the end of my street and climbing into the boughs of an ancient oak that overlooked a tidal marsh. Egrets and blue herons waded in brackish waters. I peered through curtains of Spanish Moss at skies streaked with coral and amethyst at sunset. Smelled the tang of salt. The embrace of that old tree and the stillness of the marsh whispered peace to me. I didn't want to move.

There was no turning back.The house by the tidal creek sold quickly. No room for the piano and scant storage at the new place. And all those books I had to purge. At the condo, sunlight poured through the windows and cast shadow patterns on the wood flooring. Granite counters gleamed in the new kitchen. The countertops in the old house were tiled with white squares that needed new grout.

Change of address forms, arranging furniture, finding new doctors and grocery stores and the nearest Walmart took some time. I didn't concentrate on missing Charleston. I was busy fashioning a different life in all the unaccustomed liberation of not working forty plus hours per week. 

Enter Summerville. Like a cerulean jewel dropped down from the heavens.

I live close to Azalea Park now. I take my book and sit on a bench and read. Ducks preen themselves at a nearby pond. Turtles surface and create ripples in the water. Daylight filters through pine branches. Often I pack up my book and walk through the neighborhoods surrounding the park. Houses with verdant lawns and roomy front porches grace the streets. Every now and then I hear a dog bark, the occasional car passing by, the driver waving a greeting.

Some days I browse the Timrod Library, full of history and gentle librarians that say in hushed tones, "You might want to go to one of the rooms in the back to read or take your laptop. It's a good place to study." About the only thing I hear while there is the random creak in a floorboard when someone walks over to pull a book from the shelf. After a while, I make my way down the back steps of the library then exit by an ornate iron gate. Church bells ring across the street.

I like to window shop at Hutchinson Square and stop for coffee at one of the cafes. There is an eclectic blend of sophistication and smalltown intimacy in downtown Summerville. Rare these days, I think.

Sometimes I shop at a local thrift store. When I park the car around the side of the building, someone's backyard fence is adjacent to the store. I always hear a rooster crow from the behind the fence. To hear the bird's distinctive call brings me solace, that sense of being in the country. Not needing to hurry.

Most every morning, I sit in a chair near an east-facing window. It's like sitting on those strong, low-hanging boughs of the oak. A new day enters, the sky streaming with orange and lavender and silvered light. The thrum of tranquility exists here too.

From time to time, I drive into Charleston. There are friends and family there. Doctors I still go to. When I drive back to Summerville and exit I-26, I turn off Main onto North Cedar Street to get back to my condo. When I reach North Cedar I take a deep breath, relieved to be off the freeway. I see my dentist's office and the bank that I use, where I know the teller's first name. Then I cross the railroad tracks, comforted to be on this familiar street. Glad to be home.