I am glad I no longer live where snow comes and stays, and melts a little bit and freezes, and MORE comes. Here, I can enjoy the snow on the evergreen trees and covering the browned grasses. I can watch my silly dog roll in it, shake it off, and roll in it again. My granddaughter learned to throw snowballs yesterday. But I can still go out and pick Swiss Chard and Kale, and there are still hardy crops, such as the Brussels Sprouts, coming out of the ground at the farm to nourish us. I love this region that I inhabit.

Heart Home

Can we have more than one heart-home? A place that lives in our heart and cells? I love this place that I live in. I come over the hill, and see my city below, and I am filled with richness. The tapestry of greens. But, browsing the location that one of my dog sitting client is visiting, I recall other riches. I remember the richness of distance, being able to look and look , over the hillsides, into folds in the hills. A richness of  beige  and ochre and buff, old gold and olive and goldenrod. Golden-red velvet draped over the folds of the hills, changing tones in the winds. Winds that whistle, and bring dust and tumbleweeds (Russian Thistle, usually). Texture, that of the velvet hillsides, the carved channels, sandy, crunchy, silky. Plants spaced at arms reach, so that each can get some water.