I slip on my Bearpaws and head out to the fresh air.


Beautiful bug filled bits of earth reveal various states of vegetation — bald patches next to tufts on top of ant hills that probably exceed the cities 7 inch grass height rule that welcomes a $150.00 fine. But I love the little purple flowers that are probably weeds, and am sure my neighbors curse me as they write a check to the pesticide company that keeps the purple out of their green every year.


I mow for the first time this year, mourning the decapitated dandelions now scattered, never to reach the destiny of fuzzy white, delight-bringing puffs of summer exhales.

Happy spring.