It is cold and late. I can hear the owls from my office. I often push the knowledge that life is fragile down deep somewhere around the equally unproductive “Why are we here?” and “That saguaro and most of these trees will outlive me.” We get an undetermined number of days in this life, and…
She was beautiful, wrapped in winter, and he wondered if she would allow him the pleasure of watching her welcome spring. I get wordy and super romantic as fall moves into winter. I’m not sure why, but something in me blooms when everything else is cold and dying. There’s mystery and an urgency to winter…
I love snow. It’s all soft edges, but crisp and biting. Snow is moody. I don’t mind the cold. It reminds me of being a little girl. Fresh on a mountain or plowed to the side of the road. There’s magic in snow, maybe I love the magic. I live in the desert. If I…
