Translucent leaves clinging to the beech all winter are ghosts of the summer, beckoning through the woods. They bridge the seasons, reminders, as the pussywillows announce what's ahead.
"Life is so daily," was my father's mantra, often delivered with a shake of the head and rueful smile. This blog documents my unrueful search for and exploration of the joys in the mundane. At the core, for me, my joy is in my intimates, tight connections with my husband, my sons, my friends. But this exploration focuses on the objects and experiences running parallel to my peeps that catch me off-guard, or that I consciously seek, to flare delight.
Translucent leaves clinging to the beech all winter are ghosts of the summer, beckoning through the woods. They bridge the seasons, reminders, as the pussywillows announce what's ahead.
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