It was a short walk down a slope, a rare outing for my father who has been house-bound for the past year. Out in the open, away from home, we were free to explore what was around us. We examined how the roof of a parking shed had been constructed…

The days have gotten shorter, and nights arrive with great haste. The Japanese Maple out front, which has called this garden its home for far longer than I have, has shed its last few remaining leaves. So have the lilacs, laying bare the three nests that nestled snug among its…

Now, the slightest wind sets it gently rocking, its long tube empty of any seeds. It’s not that we don’t have any: a huge bag sits inside the house, bursting at the seams with black sunflower seeds. …

Once again, day breaks to reveal sunny blue cloudless skies. Not too long ago, I looked forward to such days: to long walks, to sitting on the deck sipping iced tea, to watching the Swallowtail butterfly drift from flower to flower, while enjoying the heart-warming sunshine. But for a few…

No one becomes a gardener because they like to weed. At least, not me. The joy of gardening lies in seeing something grow, feeling the earth in one’s bare hands as one sets a little plant in the ground, or perhaps sows some seeds. It lies in nurturing, tending the…

It is early morning, and some young school girls walk by, all neatly dressed in uniforms of dark green cardigans and green and brown tartan skirts. One of them trails behind the others: she, like her friends, has a pretty brown face with deep black eyes and straight black hair…

Far below me, the audience watched with bated breath. Will she fall? Will she fall? My foot almost slid down the calf, but I caught myself just in time, knowing well that there was no net below to protect me. As a little girl, I was sometimes enlisted by my…

The woods are quiet, but never silent. There were always sounds to hear, our ears just needed to get accustomed. At times, it is only our footsteps: soft muffled thumps made as we step on plush carpets of pine needles, little swooshes as we slip on wet matted oak leaves…

It is that time of the year that feels neither young nor old. The thermometer fluctuates wildly, warm and balmy one day, and freezing the next. The winter woods are beginning to wake up as pine branches creak against one another. We make our way over crisscrossing roots, trails still…