Beneath the crust of earth, seeds and bulbs lay in store.

Beneath the snow, life is bursting, preparing for the next season.

No hot house flowers, these, bred for perfection, dyed and trimmed, and arranged to order, clothed in ribbons and bows. Not these. No, these are hardy, raw and wild. Grown under the sky, they’ve weathered the wind and the rain and the heat. These drew nutrients from the neighborhood soil and...

EARTH, clay from which we are made and to which we will return. Soil, rich and aromatic, crumbling in my fingers, dark under my nails. This, cleansing dirt, the natural filter for aquifers, holds life....

The light green shoots of blossoms-to-have-been are out of sight under the drifting snow. Gale force winds are rattling the old house. The temperature is far below freezing. Nature is not cooperating with preparations for Easter. The storm evokes the spiritual quality of Good Friday more than...

For the sound of bow on string, Of breath over reed, Of touch on keyboard; For slants of sunlight through windows, For shimmering shadows on snow, For the whisper of wind on my face; For the smooth skin of an apple, For the caress of a collar on my neck; For the prickling of my skin when I am dee...

What a gathering—the purple tongues of iris licking out at spikes of lupine, the orange crepe skirts of poppies lifting over buttercup and daisy. Who can be grim in the face of such abundance? There is nothing to compare, no need for beauty to compete. The voluptuous rhododendron and the plain...

Praise and thanks to you, divine source of comfort, of pleasure, of knowledge and of peace.