secret

“The Secret Garden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked the name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place. The few books she had read and liked had been…

Iron and stone

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell…                                                                                                                                                                                    ~Woodworth the old grist mill where as kids, my parents would…

eye candy

  Sunday afternoon at Indian Head Farm where I felt like a kid in a candy shop surrounded by all this amazing color and Monarch butterflies at every turn       while all these blossoms will soon be fading they will be replaced by the vibrant fall foliage as for the winter… I have bookmarked this post so that I may revisit here…

art work

The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web. ~Pablo Picasso

Hop Brook

it looked eerily the same as I remember it back in 2001 the sky was a crystal blue and cloudless the air had a slight feel of fall to it  yesterday I decided to skip my run and take a walk instead along the brook a quiet space a perfect spot to stop and to reflect    just before I turned around to head…