I am writing tonight from Montana. Through my open window, the sweet smell of
lilacs in blossom is wafting in along with the sound of an industrious neighbor
roto-tilling his garden. The turkey vultures (I'll try to get a photo for you
before the end of the trip) just returned to the top of the cottonwood tree to
settle in by dusk. If my husband and children were here, this would be a perfect
evening.
Today, I have had been struck by several things...first, my
heart's deep need for the smells of springtime. Second, the wonderful experience
of digging up weeds and planting flowers (we have soil in our backyard in
Phoenix that resists everything but the sharpest pick axes, so my gardening is
contained to planters and pots) and finally, I have realized that many people
might miss appreciating an evening such as this...and evenings such as this are
occurring everywhere and in other season in other latitudes; in other countries
and in other homes. But I am beginning to understand that many, many people
forget to stop and breathe it all in...whatever the "it" of ...
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