As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles (Walt Whitman)

This winter was particularly cold, long and dark . . .
so spring has graced my life with renewed appreciation.
The scent of licacs down the lane -
the apple blossoms on the tree
give me hope.
As the seasons pass through my life I have learned
every dark night is followed by morning light.

My weeping birch redresses in green finery. 

Life does not get in the way; it shows us the way. There is a gentle holiness in every day life if we listen. Each blossom whispers of an abundant harvest . . . each problem we face whispers of coming wisdom and peace.
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