 | | 2016-01-01 00:15
From blog Amy Nelson
the end of a year
Acres and acres of snow soft as cotton, the winter air rises and falls like an orchestra. I can hear the gardener and spring bird in me singing to the hills with the hope they'll soon turn to green places where flowers can grow. I am impatient in my wait for the days where sunshine pours through the unhatched window and leads me like a hand into the garden. For today, I let the tiny fire of a shared bed with my loved one keep me warm. The next time I write to you, the year will have changed and every last one of us will be clinging to reasons why we must become better people in the new year. Whether it's less wine, more walking, less jelly rolls, more...
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