Sunshine

It was a glorious weekend.  In the seventies, both days, with clear skies.  Window opening weather.

I wish I could say I did something amazing.  Jeremy had to work, the kids were scattered to the four winds (as teenagers often are) and I was home.  With open windows.  I cleaned carpets & washed clothes & did some housecleaning.  I wandered out in the yard and took pictures of the first signs of spring & smelt the spring air.  

The apple tree looks bare until you get close.  

Is it crazy that after ten years I still look at the view from my backyard and just marvel that I live here?  It blows this suburban city girls mind.  

Our dog yard looks like a meadow.  It will need mowing soon.

Truth be told, I loved every precious, boring minute of this weekend.  I needed the sunshine and the quiet.

Sometimes the nothing weekends are the best.

I was fortunate enough to see John Denver in concert when I was younger, more times than I can count.  Once we came fresh from the beach,  badly sunburned, my sister and I-- and we sang along with all the songs and shivered as the sun went down.  I think of John Denver as our sibling soundtrack.  That and Bob Dylan.  Bangled Bup Bin Blue.  Never mind, you had to be there.