yesterday, i set out with my camera to find just the right photo to accompany my latest story club story. i found this, a field full of wildflowers.

in the middle of the field, i see the heroine, eyes closed, feet bare, soft smile. she is twirling around on tip-toes, a straw hat held lightly in her hand.

every spring, during all the years i was away from michigan, my thoughts turned toward lilacs.

i remembered the purple lilacs by the back door, the white lilacs behind the house, and the pale violet lilacs around the neighborhood.

i remembered the lilac bouquets in the middle of the kitchen table. they were usually in a white hourglass vase with a red & yellow flower on it.

i remembered my youthful desire for a wedding bouquet of lilacs. (though i wasn’t entirely sure how to reconcile a spring flower with a fall wedding.)

i remembered the scent. it was sweet but not cloying, floral but not heady or overpowering.

to me, lilacs were spring.

when i moved to portland, i fell in love with tulips.

i loved the rainbow of colors, the waxy green leaves, the soft wide petals.

i loved their arrival – early in the year, when the grey + rain threatened to overtake me.

i loved the way the flowers drooped, slowly, over the edge of the vase, as if they were too heavy for their stems.

i loved the way the petals dropped, slowly, one by one.

even as i reveled in the tulips, i never forgot the lilacs.

to me, tulips looked like spring, but lilacs smelled like spring, and every year i missed them.

this spring, lilacs were not in my memory, but in my life.

i watched lilacs blow in the wind while wandering around the neighborhood with the pup.

i gathered lilac bouquets for the kitchen table and my bedroom and my grandparents’ house.

i watched the birds come and go from the bird feeder nestled in the lilac bush by the kitchen window.

i buried my nose in the blossoms, and closed my eyes in pleasure.

in the scent of lilacs, my past and present said hello.

it is spring.

yes, it is spring.

the days are long here – dawn comes before 6, the tennis ball can still be seen after 10 – and my body + spirit are drinking in the light.

i hope your solstice dreams were full of magic.

As shakespeare said about the summer solstice, in a midsummer night’s dream, “whatever is dreamed on this night, will come to pass.”

in that spirit, and in honor of the solstice, i added a favorite print to the shoppe. may it remind you of wonder + magic.

on sunday, my sister and i went out for lunch with my grandparents and my brother + sister-in-law + nephew. atlas came too. it was a cool day and he likes car rides so we brought him along to nap in the car and eat my leftover ribs.

on the way home, i turned around to look at atlas. he was lying on the seat with his head up and his eyes mostly closed, as if he was trying to stay awake but couldn’t.

“look at atlas,” i told my sister. “he’s so cute with his eyes closed!”

she turned around and looked at him.

“i think he’s closed his eyes before,” she said.

“well, yes, but now he’s doing it in your car!”

she giggled. “i feel like after 11 years, the newness of things would wear off, but with you and atlas, it never does.”

i am always trying to decide on the silliest way i’ve ever ended the phrase “he’s so cute when he ..” today, i think the winner is either this or “he’s so cute when he breathes.”

the sun came out, and i had thoughts in my head, so i took the pup to the trail by the lake. he wandered while i wrote.

everything around me was full of light & color & life.

blue & yellow wildflowers were nestled near tree trunks and in open meadows.

purple & white lilacs swayed back and forth in the wind.

the water was deep blue in color, the grasses and leaves bright green. the sunlight sparkled on the water while the waves lapped at the shore.

a flock of canadian geese took to flight as atlas drew near.

i don’t know why, but it made me think about money and how sometimes, when you don’t have much, you think that having more would change everything. i realized that, in truth, those tiny moments of joy + beauty would be exactly the same.

no matter what is going on in my life, i want to notice + appreciate them.

oh, you big-hearted person.

i am watching you, and i am awed + humbled by you.

your role is a challenging one.

i see you in the moments when you feel anxious, frustrated, or helpless.

i see you in the moments when you feel lonely, isolated, or depressed.

i see you in the moments when you feel unappreciated, misunderstood, or exhausted.

i see you in the moments when you feel scared, trapped, or tired.

i see you in the moments when you feel angry, resentful, or sad.

of course, there are good days & good moments.

moments of joy, satisfaction, and connection.

moments of delight, wonder, and sweetness.

moments of peace, growth, and appreciation.

moments of laughter, forgiveness, and ease.

and always, always, there is love.

so much love.

it is not my intent to dismiss or diminish the good by honoring + acknowledging your hard.

one does not negate the other.

my intent is simply to honor all of your feelings.

i see you. i hear you. i honor you.

i am here to bear witness to your immense love + patience + courage + resilience + compassion, even when they feel very far away.

while on a hike, i stood on a dock for a while to admire this view, bird song and frog song all around me. the frogs croaked in turn, so it was fun to follow their song around the water.

in the midst of this chorus was a croak that was so loud, i thought the frog must be under my feet, or at least right next to me. while i looked for the owner of the croak, i recorded the frog chorus on my phone.

i tried to get a clean sound, but atlas kept inserting himself into the mix in his own peculiar way – apparently he was very very thirsty. in the end, the recording made me giggle, so i thought you might enjoy it too.

(in case you’re wondering, i did find the elusive frog. he was spring green in color and hiding under some grasses to my left & behind me. i was amazed to discover that he was the size of my palm – i have a child-sized hand – so clearly he was an expert at projecting his voice.)

{an irregular series of postcards from our wild friends. this one is from a yellow warbler named viola. previous postcards: fred, constance, sam.}

today has been a busy day. apparently i am nesting, because i have done nothing but work on my nest. this is my very first nest and i want it to be perfect. plus, i like the idea of sitting in comfort.

building a nest is very satisfying work. especially now. i am building my nest at the top of a lilac bush. have you ever smelled lilacs in the springtime? if you have smelled them, perhaps you know why i decided to build my nest here. first, my babies will smell each other and me. then, they will smell the sweetness.

(can you even see me? maybe you can see my yellow feathers among all the green. i saw someone taking this picture but didn’t have time to stand still for them. my eggs are calling me!)

your friend, viola

wishing you could find postcards from the wild in your mailbox?

now you can!

because it’s spring-summer, and your time is precious, i’m going to keep this short & sweet.

here are the specifics.

what: you’ll receive five postcards ~ five members of the animal kingdom, in photo + story.

where: the postcards will arrive in your mailbox.

when: the postcards will arrive randomly, beginning in october. (i have a secret wish to photograph a particular wild animal, and i need some time.)

who: perhaps, you!

why: you love animals. you love mail. you love tiny + delightful stories. you know that the wild is full of wisdom & full of wonder. you want to connect with the wild in & around you.

cost: $29

do join me in this postcard adventure!

i’d be delighted + honored to have you along.

–>this offering is no longer available. maybe next year!

p.s. postcards from the wild might make just the right gift.

for a wild heart in the city, a child who loves animals, or a house-bound elderly relative.

clearly spring-summer is here, because atlas is eating a salad a day again. he usually chooses greens along the trail but, in a pinch, he’ll eat the greens in front of the house. after all these years, this habit still makes me giggle. i used to tell him that if i wanted to hike with a cow, i would have gotten a cow, but i didn’t. instead, i got him – a dog who eats grass whenever it’s in season, simply because he likes it.

on saturday, we went for a hike. it was a nice day, but a little too warm for atlas (he likes it cooler than 70 & it was 80 that day). he was so hot – even though he hiked in the shade and drank from a fish pond & the river & the lake – that i shared my ice cream cone with him. after a few licks, he apparently forgot we were sharing, because he chased the cone with his tongue and then took a sideways bite and ate the whole top off. and then he wanted to eat the cone too! silly pup.

i’m hoping that atlas will swim this year. so far, no such luck. it’s hard to blame him; the water is icy. one afternoon, i found a nice stick on the shore. when i showed it to atlas, he was intrigued, so i threw it in the water. he went in after it, but when the water touched his belly, he stopped and looked at the stick for a while, then turned around and came back out. maybe i need to throw in a hamburger or a hotdog.

atlas can now add beavers to his wildlife sightings. the dead beaver interested him more than the live one – possibly because the live one was out in the water. i guess we’ll find out if we run into a beaver on the trail or in the swamp someday.

atlas says hello, and offers two spring-summer suggestions:

• lie down on your back on the grass and wriggle.
• lie down on a blanket in the shade for a nap.

report back, please!

here, the earth is all a’bloom. one day, i wished for buds and blossoms. a few days later, it seemed, i saw soft fuzzy pussy willow buds. a few days later, it seemed, every tree had exploded into bloom and wildflowers were waving at me from the grass. (today, my favorite is the tiny wild violet.)

here, the sun is bright and the days are warm. atlas is in summer mode, rolling on the green grass, napping in the shade, and complaining about walks in the sunshine. today, he followed a tiny frog around the yard. every few steps, he’d nose it curiously and then wrinkle his nose and shake his head.

here, my arms are red – after peeling a five gallon bucket of carrots in the sunshine without sunscreen. and tired – after a week spent spring cleaning my grandparents’ yard (with the exception of the four largest downed branches, which i left for others, because i grew bored of sawing before they broke in two and my dad didn’t think i could start the chainsaw). there are ice cream cones on the deck, games of tennis, and bare feet on the grass. it is possible that i will attempt a swim soon, even though the water is almost as cold as ice.

here, spring and summer arrive in tandem. i had forgotten this. (and still, yes still, there are patches of snow.)