Sunday, May 28, 2017


Earlier today, it looked like spring outside. The first pink blossoms are scattered about the branches of the two peach trees and the morning sun sparkled on the emerald grass renewed by nearly five inches of rain in less than a week, probably ending our long drought.  I picked a huge orange from our tree and ate it with my breakfast.

Now, however, gray clouds are rolling in and the pine tree just beyond the neighbors' fence is bowing and tossing in the rising wind.  I can still see some patches of blue sky, but change is rustling the bushes just outside my window and the swings are moving with invisible creatures taking a ride. Shadows are stretching out across the lawn, and I'm reminded that although each day becomes marginally longer, night still strides in early with winter cold.

Yesterday, I finally succeeded in downloading my son's photographs from our Ireland trip.  There were the pictures from our visit with my former boss and his wife, in a home filled with sunshine flooding through the windows where all seemed to be light.  They are glorious daffodil gold memories banked up against the darker edged present where I sit in a silent house listening for the voice of God which is also silent.