I am worried about my flowers. They don't know to worry, because they only know what is, not what might be. They don't know that there is a blizzard warning for tomorrow. They know the forces that pull them through each season. And they know that their time on earth may be brief, but it is beautiful.
Outdoors the landscape has alternated between brown and white for months and it feels monotonous. I long to see green.
I wondered why I hadn't noticed the beautiful maple tree across the alley before. Then I remembered that it was obscured by a dead tree. Once the dead wood was removed, the beautiful tree came into view.