The Jupiter’s Beard is the last to bloom, pale pink with bees picking pollen from its bush. The garden out front is on its last legs, the lavender deep purple. On the hillsides back in Germany they’d be out with… Read More ›
Sitting outside as the storm gathers, on the outer edge of it: thinking that all things have their edges good or bad, where they begin.
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.
Knowing we had it good then but not realizing how much.
That jig-saw view of life taken apart, put back together.