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photo by Patricia (milkweed bud in the meadow)

Home, once a haven, sometimes seems like a prison. Sadness from having to cancel summer trips melted while walking this morning. The azure sky beckoning me out under full sun, my flip-flops dripping with dew. Each lap brings me home as the splendor of a perfect morning is gifted.

New growth on the pines emitting a deep scent just as precious as pines in the mountains. The tickle of moist grass on my toes while inspecting the half dozen Sycamore trees newly planted by my own hands, and the three tulip trees given by a friend… all leafing out splendidly. There is something so precious and satisfying planting and watching a thing grow.

Sitting by the creek in the warm sunshine before the heat becomes oppressive, dawdling on the way back looking to the upcoming months that include picking black raspberries which are budding abundantly…the pleasures of summer await.

No matter that my body soaks wet with perspiration from needing long pants, socks, shoes, and a long sleeved shirt to pick these particular berries. They are vicious with killer thorns.

But the mixture of painful determination with joyful pleasure is well worth the work. My daydreams includes their aroma, warmed by the sun they remind me of cotton candy. Both sweet pleasures erupt in August, though the fair has already been cancelled.

All that I need is here in my own backyard. Yet the longing to be with a friend or hug a grand-child continues. Strange times for us call require uncommon strength to endure. 

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