Author: Katherine J Krein

The other day before the storm I was looking out the bay window in our home.

I saw a baby squirrel scampering down one of the old cherry tree branches.

It reached the end of the limb, and looked up and saw me looking at it.

It scurried back to safety.

Today I saw three young squirrel friends running and jumping through the three red cedar trees along the fence.

It looked like they were playing follow the leader, or maybe, chase the leader.

I have not seen a squirrel nest among our treetops, though some nights I think I hear them in our attic.

I put my husband on their case. I did not hear them last night.

Most of us want beauty in our lives.

The form this beauty takes varies from one extreme to another.

All our different definitions of beauty could fill an expanse wider than we could see with our naked eyes, and possibly our imagination.

Everything boils down to our own personal point of view, and our willingness to open our hearts.

Some views will be followed by a majority, and votes can always be bought, though this is not always the case.

Other views will have a small following, and this usually means a low budget, or no connections.

And some will be willfully shunned. And some cannot be seen by the human eye, which means little in the big picture.

Fortunately, beauty does not require an audience. It can exist outside of opinions.

As I listen to Nora Jones, Come Away with Me album, I am wondering where we could go.

I have been looking at old pictures of my garden over the years, and then looking out my kitchen window at the reality of my garden today. They are not the same by a long stretch.

I used to spend hour after hour out there lost in the heat and sweat, trying to create my fantasy garden. Back then I came very close to my ideal.

Today I cannot seem to resuscitate my old passion for gardening. I still love gardens, and I still love looking at fantasy gardens, I just don’t want to do it all by myself anymore. It was a lonely pursuit, and to tell you the truth, I was running away from my real life.

Yesterday, I finally went outside to do my first real garden work this season. This time I dragged my husband out there to help me. We pruned the laurel hedge that wraps around one side of our deck.

The pond today needs a lot of work to recreate the scene you see above. I am not sure I have it in me anymore. More importantly, I am not sure I care anymore. My care is needed inside these days. My priorities have shifted.

The people in my life need my time and attention now.

The fantasy garden that my soul needed back then held my hand and guided me through the hard times. Miraculously, after years of depression, and then mourning the death of my parents, I have come through it all, and I am now emotionally stronger than I have ever been.

My faith helps to hold me up. When I speak of faith, not only am I speaking about faith in an all powerful creator, but also a faith in myself to be able to connect with the gifts God has given me. I will continue to listen to his guidance. I will also continue to work with the reality in front of me.

If there is anyone out there reading this, I hope my story will encourage you to keep your faith in your ability to get through any hard times that your future might hold.

I was cleaning off the paintbrushes, and putting away the paint, and suddenly a blue dog was strutting his stuff across the page.

He can slip in and out of the blue cloud that follows him. And sometimes, like today, he will be the follower.

Sometimes he appears to stretch and have two heads.

He is always a happy dog, and he likes to whistle while he walks.

The heavenly aroma of nectar sends out a silent signal.

All the nearby ants were on high alert.

Now the tears are gone.

A rest stop between the boaters and island inhabitants is the perfect hunting ground for this lone Belted Kingfisher.

The dock is worn-out and falling apart. It has been closed down for the protection of all.

Summer is over, fall is ongoing, and winter has not yet arrived.

This lone Belted Kingfisher has no boundaries. Both sexes can travel as they wish, both on land and in the sheltered waterways.

Both sexes are excellent divers. They plunge head first into the water once a fish is spotted.

They can also find food on land. Small amphibians, small mammals, and insects are all on their menu.

This captivating flower opened, having been naturally branded with the Venus symbol.

She had been a gift to me when she lay dormant within the leaves and stems of an older plant.

The previous owner had considered throwing her away.

On second thought, she was offered to me.

I am no orchid expert. I only knew she did not deserve the trash.

I brought her home with me. She was fertilized, and placed in a nice warm spot with plenty of indirect sun.

Before too long, my newly adopted plant decided to thank me with this lovely symbol of appreciation.

It turns out she was and still is the epitome of female beauty.

The Milkweed host with its dainty flowerets is being consumed.

This creepy caterpillar has a voracious appetite.

It is not his moral fault that his life is programmed

to consume at the expense of others.

He has little to no idea that his destiny awaits him.

His appetites are in the present, and his addiction

will not end until it is time.

Eventually all that will be left of this lovely Milkweed

will be her chewed up spine.

However, in the wild she has a secret.

She too is programmed.

She spreads aggressively underground.

Life on Earth is not only about the present.

Nature has to plan for future generations.

The flower spider found himself lost upon an expanse

of a rough and bumpy surface.

Fate brought him indoors hidden within a group

of cut flowers laid upon the table.

A large hand lifted the flowers into a water filled vase.

In fear of being crushed he jumped and landed on a foreign object.

He was more exposed than before.

His yellow body and dark black legs were in sharp contrast

to this bleached white terrain he fell upon.

He sensed a hand and eye getting closer, and he froze in fear.

He heard a clicking noise and saw a flash of light.

He was frightened and yet still alive.

He felt a rising. The surface he was on was being lifted.

He felt  a slight breeze. Everything was moving. He held on tight.

They were moving toward the sun. He could feel the heat.

A finger reached out and lightly flicked him.

He lost his grip and he went flying.

In an instant he landed softly on the grass.

He ran for his life and quickly found cover.

He thanked his lucky stars that his life was spared.

Mother’s Day is coming soon, and I’ve been thinking about  my mother’s pies.

She made them regularly after she retired. She made a wide variety, mostly fruit.

To name a few: gooseberry pie, apple pie, peach pie, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and rhubarb pie.

Her crusts were always home made and hand rolled with a rolling pin. She was an expert.

Recently I’ve been going through all my family pictures. My mother had many glamour pictures taken throughout her life. Though, the picture I was seeking was of her in her early seventies proudly displaying some rhubarb stalks that she had grown.

My mother was never one to sit for long. She always wanted to be moving and doing.

This picture captures her essence that I remember most fondly.