There once was a girl who could write
Her words were full of insight
She tried a limerick
That fell like a brick
But her stories floated like light.
In March, I still don’t usually like to walk in the morning.
Even though I’m a walker.
I don’t hike or run, trot or dawdle. I walk for miles for the majesty of . . . walking.
No little music plugs; instead I keep my ears open for the sound of the woodpecker and the hawk, the trill of the mocking bird and the taunt of the squirrel. I listen to the scrunch of the leaves, the low roar of the plane above me, and the soft slap of my shoes on wooden bridge and wooded path. Continue reading →
A few minutes after dawn, I notice some movement outside my window.
Because it’s summer, with flowers blooming wildly and birds singing as if there’s no tomorrow, I assume some kind of wildlife has entered my yard.
Cracking open the back door, I peek out. Despite my admiration for foxes and wild turkeys, I don’t necessary want to tiptoe out into the yard and run into any family squabbles. Continue reading →
I met an amazingly ordinary couple this week. They own their own nursery, where they grow and sell day lilies and hostas, hydrangea and roses, astilbes and lavender.
My guy and I visited their little nursery in hopes of filling in some gaps where 8-feet of snow devastated some of our flowering bushes. Although the drive was not far from our village outside of Boston, the green-hooded winding lanes, acreages of pastureland with grazing cows, a farm here, another white-spired church there, made us feel like it could just as easily be 1940, or 1840, instead of 2015. Continue reading →
The outlook is bleak for millions of us as we peer outside our windows. We now live in a gray and white world.
I’m begging for some color. So I go inside to my imagination. Isn’t that the place we all should enter, when life becomes too monochromatic?
I want sun, no, I NEED sun like the birds and the bees and all the flowers (not) on the trees… Ah ha, I know what I’ll do. Continue reading →
I love Christmas as much as the next, but by early-February, I’m ready for Valentine’s. Or better yet, spring.
However, in New England, I notice that many people still can’t give up Christmas, even in February.
When I brave the cold and snow and ice on my daily walks, I count the wreaths on the front doors of holiday stalwarts who seem to refuse to let Christmas go. Continue reading →