The creek has once again rearranged its banks and the front deck is an island surrounded by a mud bog.

I don’t think we dared imagine this day, this moment from our wobbly perch on the edge of the Unknown last spring.

Eight more inches of snow predicted between now and Tuesday.

The scene around me was a full distraction of gorgeousness, and I fell for it.

I shudder to think of the elaborate capers that escaped our scrutiny as we labored miles away, unawares.

Today began like most other days, with a walk around the land and a good bit of taking stock of the projects that await us when the winter melts into spring.

The seed catalogues have started to arrive, in nonstop glorious full-color succession.

For now, I blame Wednesday and a weary spirit that has held up its hand, saying give me a minute. Give us all a minute.

Someday, if I ever come into money, I’ll own one of those Hello Kitty-wrapped Volkswagen bugs, you just watch.

How can something so cold make us feel so cozy?

In less than an hour, three inches of snow piled up neatly on the deck and I took a moment to appreciate it before sweeping it aside and off into the grass.

Yesterday was marked by a quick trip into town to exchange food with Patrick’s mom and sister, then back home for an afternoon of unbridled creativity.

In all my decades of shopping at thrift stores, I have yet to interact with anyone who isn’t kind or quirky, creative or just browsing.

I climbed into the pen while Patrick held the blue plastic tarp down over the top to discourage any panicked flight risks.

…the washing machine plays that little digital tune at the end of the speed cycle and it startles me when I’m alone in the house.

Early in my twenties, someone once described me as having an “active inner life”.

I swayed from the impact for a second or two and stepped back, stumbling over a thick knot of dried mud and straw.

I made my heart as humble as I could before stepping off the path and over the remains of the rusty razor wire fence into their Their World…

I didn’t want to see someone whose body had been insulted by bullets and grenades.

So there I am on a Tuesday, and a Wednesday, trying to deconstruct the process for making a catheter bag cover.