I sat on the deck and looked out at a yard that yesterday was completely white. I thought I heard rain in the middle of the night, but I had no idea that I'd wake up to see winter washed away.
I'm feeling like I'd like to try and paint on a canvas. It would be a huge step to move from my safe sketchbook, but I'm hearing a call. It's not like I'm doing anything these days. Maybe I'll write a poem. In the meantime, here's a Poet Tree.