Flowers on Sunday Slowly

Spring is still waiting in the wings.  Snow drops have erupted between the spent leaves and the tangles of last year’s grass, their nodding bells buzzing with bees – yes, bees – making the most of these early delicacies.  And the tender strands of witchhazel blossoms have burst along the branches, more like ribbons than petals, and unexpectedly fragrant in the snow-cold air.

I’m still pretty tired most of the time.  Daunted, if that can be said.  All the little variables that can’t be decided or purchased.  Or folded and stored, for that matter. I feel like my brain and nerves went through a terrible storm in a tiny little dingy.  And even though we’ve reach dry land, my legs are still trembling.

These days, I’m never sure about the pictures.  I think I’m getting somewhere – but I find I’ve ended up somewhere else.  Maybe that’s no surprise.  I haven’t landed quite yet.


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