Nothing had changed. I was the stupid one again. I was the girl who never understood who she was to people.
June is the gateway to summer.
September is a sweep of dusky, purple asters, a sumac branch swinging a fringe of scarlet leaves, and the bittersweet scene of wild grapes when I walk down the lane to the mailbox. September is a golden month of mellow sunlight and still clear days. . . . Small creatures in the grass, as if realizing their days are numbered, cram the night air with sound. Everywhere goldenrod is full out.
In March winter is holding back and spring is pulling forward. Something holds and something pulls inside of us too.
November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls.
My prayer for the new year is that I may have the courage and the stamina to let Life happen to me, to accept its joys and successes, and to take in stride the learning that stretches us and the growing pains. Perhaps, to put it simply, my wish for the New Year is: may we love more, live more, laugh more. And so may you!
October arrives in a swirl of fragrant blue leaf smoke, the sweetness of slightly frosted MacIntosh apples, and little hard acorns falling. We are in the midst of cool crisp days, purple mists, and Nature recklessly tossing her whole palette of dazzling tones through fields and woodlands.
When a man wants to write a book full of unassailable facts, he always goes to the British Museum.
When I come back like Jordan, wearing the 4-5 It ain't to play games with you, it's to aim at you, probably maim you If I owe you I'm blowin' you to smithereens.
Where ruts have not yet been worn, it requires less effort to stay out of them.
Anger will never disappear so long as thoughts of resentment are cherished in the mind.