Loners live on this land. Last spring, a yearling deer was born in the damp, brown-needled duff on the forest floor. Her mama taught her to survive on this acreage where there is food, water, and friendly humans. I frequently watched the pair from my living room window that first season, grazing grass in the yard.
Read MoreThe warm, low-angle light of the setting sun blasted through the windshield, blew through my sunglasses, and pummeled my squinting eyes. I glanced down for a reprieve from the glare and noticed the red needle on the gas gauge kissing E.
Read MoreLate afternoon sun angles across the meadow, creating a facade of warmth on this chilly early March day. My black rubber chore boots squish in the mud left by the last rain as I make my way down the garden trail. Moments before it is crushed beneath the weight of me, a soft purple glow poking up on the edge of the path catches my eye.
