Rolling Mustang Gathers Some Moss

After so many miles into the hinterlands and so much time spent on the tortured tarmac of inland by ways, it seems time to draw back to the lowcountry. Flying over parkways and parking at Bat Caves, finding lost lakes and losing counties in the rearview tires one's tire. It seemed incumbent for the Rolling Mustang to gather some moss.

Be it ever so humble there's no place like home. The modest cottage pictured is not truly home, but close enough. It certainly has bountiful moss to gather and ample room inside and much to record if it cannot be saved.

A little birdie let it be known that this fine old plantation and its grounds may not long endure in its present form. The heavy hand of development hangs over these oaks we think. We are here to roll up the moss and save at least that much from the developer's mitts. These graceful grounds may soon give way to subdivided lots, perhaps redecorated in cute and trendy ways, but certainly plundered for the green, the long green.

If the blue Windveil has any mission at all it would be to dash across the land and record what is left of grace and beauty, character and class, goofiness and funk. It seeks to place itself at every doorstep where change is in the air and just a few miles ahead of these ill winds of change.