writing
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April brought all the showers as promised; now we wait to see if May holds up her end of the deal with flowers. I’m sitting here looking out at more gray clouds while drinking my second cup of hot coffee for the morning. It’s cool and gloomy, but the bright green baby leaves are
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February brought us both glittering snow and promises of spring. The longer I live in New England, the more I look forward to the snow. I cheer with the kids when we wake up to a snow day and any excuse to stay home. The kids and I spent our snow days trying to figure
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It’s been a long time since I played with words. The last year was really, really hard. Today though, I sit on the other side of that all-consuming year and breathe in the goodness of what we built. I’m tucked in my armchair in a bright, warm corner of our bedroom — my favorite nook
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I run through rows of corn taller than my twelve-year-old frame. The fuzzy, prickly stalks pull at my arms and legs and, occasionally slice like a paper cut into my skin. Somewhere, deep within the tidy rows, a bare circle of ground hides like an accidental fort…that magical spot where the tractor turned around and
The Wheat Princess 