For the last two years my son and I have watched a little tree that sprouted in our garden, wondering what it was. We know now. It’s a peach tree.

If you’re going to examine your life in public, which is what I decided to do when I started writing about what it was like to watch my wife die of dementia and then deal with my grief, it will get personal, and you’ll run across things like the little story that follows.

I’m still unable to discover the second topic I thought would make for a good essay. That’s sad. I mean, I had the idea right there in my head on Wednesday as I drove home from Houston.

Yesterday, I had two ideas I thought I might write about this morning. I believed they were committed to memory. I was wrong. Only one survived the night.

We had no rain to speak of this past winter at our house. No winter grass sprouted in the yard. For the longest time I despaired of seeing spring. But like love, it found a way.

Last year, on a trip to Marathon, I got a ticket for going too fast in a school zone. I took defensive driving.  I learned something doing it.

I’ve been dreaming of my late wife recently. Odd little dreams, here and there. Nothing special or weird. She just shows up.

Yesterday was another good day in the yard.

Never let anyone tell you writing isn’t work. This morning, before I put fingers to keyboard, I had to lie down on the floor, on my back, and re-attach the holder for my keyboard.

Sore muscles and a satisfied mind seem to be the combination.

The story ends better than it starts.

I confess. It felt good toiling in the yard once again.

I have been remiss. My gardens need tending, and I have done nothing. Deadwood needs trimming. Weeds need pulling. Borders need tidying. Instead, I have gone gallivanting around the countryside for the first quarter of the year.

Spring. The swallows are back.

Recently, a news story caught my eye. A pickup crossed the center line and hit a van in West Texas. The occupants of the truck died as did most of the occupants of the van,

I had a good day yesterday. I wrote a song. I was noodling around with my new chord and a piece of a tune popped into my head along with some nonsense words.

The waxing gibbous moon is still pretty, big, and bright over the pasture. The northwest wind is gusting, and the air is clear and cool.

Went to the hills south of town and watched the sun go down yesterday evening. More precisely, I watched as the earth turned leaving the sun right where it always is, in the middle of the solar system.

I fell to earth yesterday. My three good days took a hit. It happened in the afternoon. I was looking at social media and realized I’d missed a Monday evening event to which I was invited.

I had a good day yesterday. Got a massage in the morning. Played golf in the afternoon. Did really at both.