"Queer things happen in the garden in May. Little faces forgotten appear, and plants thought to be dead suddenly wave a green hand to confound you."
- W. E . Johns

Violets have faded. Lady slippers thrive. Pinks, by the railroad tracks. Dogwood blossoms rusting. Wild geraniums, wide open and dew dropped in the woodlands. So many colors of blooms in the yard. Cooler, much cooler, but still quite pleasant. It’s Monday, and I have the day to work. Prep for tomorrow morning’s group and tomorrow evening’s group. And, a few tweaks for my poem to send to tonight’s workshop. Later int the afternoon, a text from my workshop friend reminding me to send my poem in time! I laugh in appreciation. So kind of her to think of me. I was so pleased to see two frogs in the pond this afternoon. I’ve been worried that there was only one left. Tonight, my edited poem seems to be working well. Soft air and sunshine seep all day into the house relaxing everything that is cluttered and undone.