Winter is fast losing its grip.
White patches of snow still nest on shaded hillsides. But the sun is warm and I’ve been out to inspect the slope out back.
It’s not exactly a yard, really more of a mecca for elk and deer. Their frequent passing has forged a narrow way for me to go along the slope in search of signs of spring.
Being drier here than the coast, pines are quite at home,
providing ample supplies of cones and needles—
—nice long needles that are perfect for the weaving of handy little baskets.
(I have yet to attempt this art; this one was created by my dad-in-law.)
The slope is dry and warm (no wonder the elk like it!) and in a protected ravine I find what I was looking for–
Lo, green is springing up!
As I turn back to the house, these dear little handprints in the rockwork by the door remind me of long by-gone family visits to Grandad and Nani’s house.
Who’d have guessed then that one day when kids had flown and Nani had moved on to Heaven we’d move in to keep Grandad company!
And so we have, for now.
Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Ps.90:1