cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
My father and I argue about trees. I once had a beautiful red maple in my front yard. My husband and I envisioned it natural and towering, shading our bedroom from the fierce summer sun. When it was planted my oldest son hid secret notes in the hole to be buried among the roots. It…
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There’s an ache to my lower back as I stoop and stretch for the next dead branch with my hedge trimmers. Waste bins and brown recyclable bags checker yards up and down the street. Interspersed between each bin, neighbors gather dead things, heaving last year’s baggage away so summer can begin again. Together our bodies…
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It’s been 2 weeks since we moved the first rock, and it’s still an unfinished project.
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As I was preparing to write for this month, I left the window open on my computer with the May writing themes the only words on the page.
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Her hands, tan from the sun, were wrinkled and rough, nails cut short and not a hint of polish.
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I’m sitting here over my morning tea watching transition across my yard.
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When we drove up the driveway to our new home in 1998 the grass was above our knees when we walked across it to meet our new neighbors.
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It’s really early in the morning. Most of the world around me is deep in sleep.
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There is such breathtaking promise in a green chrysalis.
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“Meet me in morning stillness, while the earth is fresh with the dew of My Presence.” by Sarah Young
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