Whensday
Dearest,
I'm sitting here paging through the Burpee seed catalog, dreaming of spring, thinking of you. I'm so tired of winter and it's just begun. What shall I plant? I won't change the gardens that you planted unless something is amiss with them. I was looking at the ruins of your purple cone flowers today and it made me smile, there are so many. You struggled to make them grow for how many years? Then they all grew, even new ones that the birds planted. I miss the birds, gone for the winter. The only ones that remain hang out by the feeders in the back. I remember you would get so excited when the seed catalogs arrived, for you it was the first sign of spring.
Seasons, life is just a parade of seasons, everything has a season. We had ours, until the fall. Somehow that seems such an appropriate word. I still impatiently anticipate the next season. What new discoveries? What will grow? What surprises might lie in store. You used to be so excited by the first crocuses. I never saw you happier than when you were digging in the dirt. Happiness waxes and wanes with the seasons. With the seasons of life as well. This MUST be my winter of discontent. Will there be a spring of hope? Does hope spring eternal? Will there ever be another summer of love? As time goes by, I think so. I will plant flowers for you. I will tend your gardens, because I love you still.
I marked this entry as inspiring, I don't know how to be inspiring. I know you know what's coming. Me and my birds, all my life, I don't know what started it but I was very young when I rescued my first nestling. I hope top be very old when I rescue my last. Oh, not those birds - these Byrds!
Until it's my time to fly, Your Ken
I'm sitting here paging through the Burpee seed catalog, dreaming of spring, thinking of you. I'm so tired of winter and it's just begun. What shall I plant? I won't change the gardens that you planted unless something is amiss with them. I was looking at the ruins of your purple cone flowers today and it made me smile, there are so many. You struggled to make them grow for how many years? Then they all grew, even new ones that the birds planted. I miss the birds, gone for the winter. The only ones that remain hang out by the feeders in the back. I remember you would get so excited when the seed catalogs arrived, for you it was the first sign of spring.
Seasons, life is just a parade of seasons, everything has a season. We had ours, until the fall. Somehow that seems such an appropriate word. I still impatiently anticipate the next season. What new discoveries? What will grow? What surprises might lie in store. You used to be so excited by the first crocuses. I never saw you happier than when you were digging in the dirt. Happiness waxes and wanes with the seasons. With the seasons of life as well. This MUST be my winter of discontent. Will there be a spring of hope? Does hope spring eternal? Will there ever be another summer of love? As time goes by, I think so. I will plant flowers for you. I will tend your gardens, because I love you still.
I marked this entry as inspiring, I don't know how to be inspiring. I know you know what's coming. Me and my birds, all my life, I don't know what started it but I was very young when I rescued my first nestling. I hope top be very old when I rescue my last. Oh, not those birds - these Byrds!
Until it's my time to fly, Your Ken
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