“Hope, like the daffodils, is always ready to return. You just have to believe it will.” I whispered the words in the silence, took a deep breath, as I stood looking out my window early this morning, remembering many years ago, sitting at the breakfast table with my mother, looking out the same window when she asked if she would see the flowers bloom in spring.
The Story of Flowers. The stories that flowers tell in gardens are timeless and poetic, each bloom holding a narrative of its own.
I believed it would and it did! Snow! What a fun day and I’ve loved all of it. I’m glad I still have my inside Christmas decor throughout the house. Wish the outside was still decorated! The snow seems like we are experiencing Christmas all over again.
On a hot summer day, as I sat in my office with my granddaughter creating works of art, my mind was changed forever about Oreo cookies…
I learned much about my ancestors through my grandparents as I listened to the stories they told…
It was a perfect day with a little nip in the air and a gentle breeze. At age eighteen, life is exactly as I want—secure and carefree. But in just a few hours, life would change forever.
The damaged tree and the run-down fence were quite the pair. Both had seen their better days, but I saw beauty and a story to be told.
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As a young girl, I never knew what it was like to go shopping for new clothes. Instead, my mother made everything we wore. All of my handmade…