Aside from the abundant wax current blooms, which count as flowers, of course, but as tiny and pale pink as they are, do not satisfy the flower itch, the first wildflower that I spotted this year was a scrappy little white thing alone in the dirt.
The first time I ran on my current backyard trail was April 2017. RK and I went to central Oregon hoping to mountain bike and instead we went running in sideways rain/sleet/snow.
Most of us remember connect-the-dot puzzles, moving a pencil around a piece of partially printed newsprint from numbered dot to numbered dot until a composition is revealed.
A few weeks ago, before we moved to our house on the edge of the forest, and one of the last times I pulled into the Maston trailhead parking lot in the dark, I was not surprised to be the only car.
