A poem about that first bite —

An easy, creative craft the whole family will enjoy! — Traditions…traditions. . . what stability and pleasure they can bring to our lives! One of my favorite family traditions involves collecting autumn leaves. …

Ragged and wild — White asters in Autumn, ragged and wild sprawling with the carelessness of an disregarded child. Decorum not essential, regulations unknown; boundaries irrelevant, homelessness their home. White asters line the highways and brighten every field; invade our careful gardens where some might call them weeds. But every ardent honeybee and many a…

With a heartbreaking thud — A bird hitting the window with a heartbreaking thud startles me out of my complacency. Imagine the thoughts of the bird flying with joy through the summer air. Only to be struck like a softball by an invisible bat. In the catalog of unexpected events that life may bring us…

An urge to rediscover — As I walked out this morning caressed by a light-fingered breeze, the fat clouds piled above me like mounds of sweetened cream. Anticipation led my feet, an urge to rediscover what neither age nor weariness should dominate nor smother. As I walked I saw nine ducks splashing in a pond. I thought…

All it took was building a pond —

A true tale of frogs, faith, and silliness — I think I may be losing it. Seriously. Well, not seriously. Just the opposite. I am truly enjoying being silly right now about three frogs who have taken up residence in a little pond in my yard. Here’s what happened: In June of this year, I read an article about…

In praise of what is overlooked — Here there are no pruning shears, no pretty pebbled paths, no sundials or marble fountains. Here there are no copper chimes, no flagpoles, no watering cans or hoses. Here there are no prize winners, no garden superstars, no horticultural debutantes. Here there is merely tenacious beauty, resilience and fecundity, unfettered and…

Disinclined to answer me back — I am staring at you, grasshopper, wondering what I must look like to you. . . A menacing thing, perhaps? Or of no more interest than a passing cloud? I am not like you, a coiled spring ready to launch. Nor have I your awareness of every gradation of light and dark…