It's that time of year: the early morning sun just skims the hardwood floors and kitchen floor...highlighting the dust and crumbs that winter grey hid so well.
But, on a more-positive note, the wheat is looking all pretty and emerald out in the fields.
After two summers of drought, I told myself (and anyone who would listen) that I didn't want to plant ANYTHING this summer. Too hot, too dry, too dusty.
But I find myself perusing the seed catalogs and garden sites online.
That Spouse o' Mine brought out the chainsaw this weekend and cut down the two once beautiful, now-dead willow trees out of our back yard.
But he says we will replace them this spring.
Playing Bocce underneath the willows: