The small flower bed near my front door is a wild mess. It doesn’t look like much and I don’t fuss with it. I’m more of a vegetable gardener than a flower gardener. It’s the harbinger of spring when the first purple crocus pokes up its brave head. In the fall I pull frost-killed plants and
I’m at the park, kneeling at my tripod and looking through the viewfinder at some flowers I don’t know the name of. What someone somewhere called them in the past doesn’t matter. They’re growing here today and I’m appreciating their unique beauty and attempting to capture a reasonable digital representation. Sometimes I catch glimmers of
Gerry leaves early for a hike and I putter in the kitchen making pasta salad and a big batch of granola. It’s 9:00 when everything’s done, cleaned up, and put away: the time I head down to the woman cave to write. But the sun is shining and it is warm outside. The deck looks
With my thumb and forefinger, I pluck tiny white and yellow chamomile flowers. They are a perpetual gift: the more I pick the more return in their place. I toss them on a plate on my windowsill to dry and lift my fingers to enjoy the sweet aroma. Later I go back to the raised bed
The week does not unfold as expected, but it falls in a pleasant way, nonetheless. I spend mornings writing, and after lunch and a chess game, we go out and do something together. One afternoon we pack our camera gear and go on a quest to photograph the Arrowleaf Balsamroot—a bright harbinger of spring in
Another early morning and I’m out in the yard in my pajamas, camera in hand, trying to capture an image of the skies declaring the glory of God. This barefoot sixty-year-old woman, with sleep-tousled hair who is dodging spray from the sprinklers and lifting her Canon in praise, is having church out there. Don’t let
The sky this morning is gray, and rain fell during the night. It’s still raining, I suspect, judging by the sweet scent coming in through the open door in our bedroom. It looks much like most of last month looked out there, but it is decidedly different. This particular gray morning comes on the heels