Receiving Grace
In June, when the world seems newly rinsed and ringing with green, I noticed something that did not belong to the season. An oak leaf—dry as leather left too long to sun, its edges curled like an old question—hung from a branch that should have surrendered it months ago. Autumn had passed in its golden…
The Quiet Work of Rain
This morning arrives on the soft feet of rain. Not a storm, not a proclamation—just a steady, unhurried falling that smooths the edges of June. The light has quieted itself, as though the day has drawn a thin linen curtain, inviting us to step back from the bright insistence of early summer. The gardens, only…
Ancient Things in New Soil
By late morning, I was on my hands and knees in the garden, peeling back the winter‑tangled overgrowth to ready the soil for the perennials that will spill color into the coming weeks. There is something humbling about beginning a season this way—palms pressed into cool earth, knees damp, breath fogging slightly as the day…
In My Words 