Weary

Honestly, we’re growing weary. Some days the weight feels heavier than others. It’s challenging to see delights which, of course, makes finding them even more important. But some days the effort takes more energy than we can summon. Or maybe that’s just me. Lilacs buds in the backyard are fat with promise. Or so I’m

First Day of Spring

The sun shines through the east facing window kissing the bunch of tulips on the dining table. The light is magical. I’d like to put the macro lens on my camera and play but there are other more pressing things to do. I grab my phone and take a quick shot to mark the moment.

Maybe

Maybe it’s easier to allow my attention to get caught up in a whirlwind of anxiety about things over which I have little or no control than it is to love well. Not maybe. It is. I wish it wasn’t so but it is. The news cycle is tough right now. We’ve been on this

Welcome March

We take a walk in my favourite park—the one where ghosts of boys playing baseball and girls wrapped in pink toddle in and out of a building that’s no longer there. Gerry’s been sick and to combat cabin fever we drive across town to the park rather than down the hill to church. Worship looks

Summer

Spring goes out like a petulant teenager. It’s cold. I pull on a hoodie, long pants, and socks (socks!) to stay warm, and close the doors and windows. When I pass by the den on the way downstairs to the woman cave to write, I spy Maya curled up on a blanket on the sofa wearing

The Heat is On

It’s hot—almost, but not quite, Kamloops summer hot. The temperature gauge in the car reads 34 Celsius (that’s 93 Fahrenheit) when I’m on the way home. I put the groceries away and water my flowers, then gather a book and my glasses and head out to the deck. A bear in the yard shakes things

Rich

I write in the morning, weaving threads and creating tapestry, lost in the process. In the afternoon, I settle into my favourite spot on the deck with a book, and a highlighter, and a Yorkie on my lap. I read slowly—rereading when I realize I’m skimming—setting my book down now and then, when a hummingbird buzzes