Snow. In May.

Yesterday, it was a shock of green that caught my attention and today it’s a shock of white—as in snow. At the top of the hillside across the valley, barely visible beneath the low cloud, there is a dusting of the white stuff. It’s raining here. Real rain. The kind of rain we got when we lived south of Seattle that invites one to curl up on the sofa with a mug of tea and get lost in a book. I might just do that after church. I certainly won’t be needing to water the garden and it’s still too chilly to get too serious about planting.

What profound thing can one say about snow on the hilltops in May? One word. Yuck.

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I’m a writer, reader, photographer, and gardener. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things.

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