The ants and rabbits have joined forces this year. They are my arch garden nemeses.

When I stepped out into our back deck the other evening, and looked up at the blue sky just over the hill behind the cabin, I heard a chorus of cicadas. It had been raining for days, but the sky was suddenly blue, and the cicadas were suddenly singing.

So happy to welcome our newest grandchild!

Yes, difficult times really are followed by better times. Hardship might be only temporary, beauty really will bloom again, and April showers will bring May flowers. For all of this, I am so very thankful.

My furry pillow sighed, and both dog and I were soon sound asleep. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect lullaby.

Oh, how I love stories, from my father's bedtime stories as a child, to my clients' life stories explaining why they came through my office door in search of legal representation, to novels, and yes, to history.

Perhaps there is a song here. I can almost hear it in the back of my mind, 2,304 seeds, but song or not, I do know, is that there is a story.

Perhaps this homeless man had used this line many times before, perhaps not, but it didn't matter. He had given me so much more than a line.

I often find myself getting sidetracked. I might be reading a book and find a word with which I'm not familiar. The most recent such word was widdershins. 

I suppose we really should build a high shelf on which to place the boots, but perhaps this is only a passing phase.

I wonder if this is what it's like to work inside a magic bubble. The rain pours down outside and beats on the glazed roof. It falls in wind-driven sheets. 

One of our young family's favorite bedtime stories was Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are." It's the story about a young boy named Max who sailed to the island of the Wild Things.

The weather has been amazingly warm these past few days. The sky overhead has reflected my joy, so I decided to head outside and dive into my spring cleaning, even though spring is y still several weeks away. I pulled on an old flannel shirt, tied up my leather work boots, and set off into the day. 

The first day of spring is less than four weeks away. I smile. I might just be sad to see these winter days go.

In time, my parents sold their city house and moved away and I no longer returned to the pet shop, but I know in my heart that if I stopped by today, Henry would remember me. I believe that turtles, like elephants, never forget.