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The hummingbirds are back. Probably two pair of them, although I’m not quick enough to identify individual features.
On the first truly warm day of spring in this part of the continent, I went out weeding my garden.
Every time I wake up my computer, it asks for my password.
My daughter lives in a small cluster of houses in a little valley nestled into a fold in a series of arid hills cloaked in sagebrush.
Lessons to be learned from a dog who seems to learn from his own mistakes.
In the garden, rhubarb thrusts up through last year’s rotting leaves.
In his song Taxi, the late Harry Chapin sings that he “learned about love in the back of a Dodge…”
Joey the cat stands on his hind legs, raking his claws against our deck window, demanding to come in.
Hoarfrost came down the other night. No, that’s not quite correct. Snow comes down—hoarfrost just appears.
Driving through downtown Vancouver recently, steady rain turned the roads into pools of shiny blackness.