I open the bin that holds my off season clothes and there lies my summer wardrobe. Hello, old friends. I’ve miss you. Can’t wait to wear you again.

Back to pencil and paper. Back to revisions. Back to another early morning, sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, looking out toward my garden space, reimagining.

Since mid July, there’s been wave upon wave of brilliant orange and red. The poppies just won’t stop.

Since early spring, I’ve been wanting to show you this. How the wild violas have found a place between the flagstones on the terrace.

It’s just beginning to lighten into a cloud-covered, gently snowing day. I’m watching a small bunch of deer playfully skitter

I’m quite amazed that I can sit here at the picnic table on the terrace and write to you. In a sundress, no less.

It’s like a gift, wrapped in birdsong, tied with morning’s sun. An early start to day-long permission to do nothing more than putter at the potting bench, dig in the soil, rearrange the flowerbeds.