The foggy mist made ringlets of my hair and the clumps of dirt turned to mud under my fingernails as I weeded the walk of clover just after 7:30am. I have always loved those early hours before the sun bakes the earth in the summer or when the stillness of winter’s frozen ground is as silent as the air.
Read MoreThis morning as I step out of the barn, done with chores, the sun is still hiding and the deep indigo sky stretches out before me from one horizon to the next. That backdrop gives the stars, still bright and dancing, a stage for their performance not yet finished. I lift my chin to see the constellations stuck to the dome of blue, like window clings wrapped to the curve of the atmosphere.
Read MoreWe are easily able to manipulate an impression with a specific image so the viewer never truly is aware of the authentic experience at that moment in time. This is social media.
Read MoreThe grass gives way with each step I take toward the house, crunching beneath my feet, dressed in a thin veil of ice. As the light from the house reaches out to greet me, the grass suddenly explodes in a brilliant display of flickering, glistening, sparkling lights. Like the glitter I would find left behind, all those years ago, after Abby would dance in her fairy outfit and stop to give me a hug.
Read MoreEvery morning I look to the heavens, ink black and forever deep, like a bottomless sea. Only the stars and planets poke bright holes in the darkness creating the heavenly arch and giving the illusion that they wrap around the earth like a blanket. My routine each day is the same. I wake at the same hour and I follow the same path one half hour past waking. My responsibility to my animals is unwavering, steadfast, and pleasant in its predictability.
Read MoreI walk amidst the flipflops that have been strewn on the floor of the mudroom in an attempt to locate my heavy winter muck boots, and I feel a pang of longing in my heart. The summer-like weather of the weekend, filled with sunshine and warm wind, seems so long ago.
Read MoreStepping out onto the deck in the pre-dawn hour the cacophony of voices ring out in the darkness and make me smile. Thousands of peepers invisible to the eye herald in the spring, no doubt thrilled with the misty rain caressing my cheeks.
Read MoreRain fell lightly from the solid sheet of gray overhead and the wind picked up as the school bus rolled to a stop in front of our mailbox. As Abby stepped from the pot-holed gravel driveway onto the street, the petals from the pear tree jumped off onto the breeze and flew like a hundred tiny butterflies, white against the spring green background.
Read MoreRolling down winding roads, past fields blanketed in snow and round bales dressed in winter white, the pavement cuts through thick woods that shed their individuality in October, and now wear this season’s color…a grey-brown that blends Maples, Ash and Oak.
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