A Tangle of Bright Moments: All the Firstlings of the May

“I strolled along the beaten way, Where hoary cliffs uprear their heads, And all the firstlings of the May Were peeping from their leafy beds,

The Fire of the Frost

It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter

Unresolved in the Garden

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, or any resolutions. I prefer to just see what happens, without my controlling little fingers and my overactive yet