spoons large and small classy and plain, mostly scratched and well-worn, one or two shiny and new, probably orphaned at a party, left behind in a dish or alone on the counter years of spoons folks brought for ice cream, Jello, mac n’ cheese, coleslaw, casseroles, crisps, deviled eggs, green beans, rice and potato dishes, that sit in the same drawer with our spoons these spoons, like all our spoons, treated with the same expectation that good service will receive good care

recently someone called me that, and it makes sense if you knew my love of plants, fawning and mothering feeding and watering sharing their gifts my love of animals their innocent love simple needs and simple lives my love of mornings early sunshine fresh air and what’s in the air - the marvel the awe the sense that this moment is life’s perfect gift that never needs opening

Freeport, Maine summer1959 perhaps my parents wanted to build character by making their two boys walk the Desert of Maine a twenty-acre attraction of preserved sand dunes that we trudged up and over and struggled to finish even at seventy degrees we were dragging feet in the heat, dying for water, complaining all the way sixty-five years later I’ve chosen to live in miles of sand and cactus under a mostly burning sun and though I love it there are still times when