One morning on a sunny, muggy, lazy summer day, my friend and I drove to a beach. Not having gone to a beach in several years, I was filled with anticipation! We decided to drive in the direction of Newport, Rhode Island, because it was said to have beautiful beaches.

      It was a cool, crisp, sunny morning, at the end of April. Though it was only 33 F, flowers were brightly blooming in rose, orange, red and magenta, and I decided to ride my bicycle part-way to work early. As I bicycled down a quiet residential street, the peace was suddenly shattered by a shrill screeching, squealing and incessant cawing. I looked around for the source of this din, and there, perched upon a white fence railing was a large, greedy-looking black crow, with a writhing, little brown furry animal, clutched in its talons.

     One evening my son and I were enjoying a visit together in my home, and we were backing up computer files. As we walked through the house, we suddenly heard a loud crash. We both ran to look out the windows, to see the cause of the crash, but saw nothing unusual.

                              The Garden

     Several years ago, a good friend gave me a beautiful, blooming plant, with a cluster of delicate, pale pink blossoms and dark green leaves (a plant perhaps related to the African violet, though it came without a name). Family and friends alike have delighted in the beauty of the flowers over these years.

     There once lived a brilliant, young man, who lived in a small town, in a lush hamlet, in the midst of rugged mountains. He had grown up in a family, with a hard-working mother and father and six siblings, three sisters and three brothers. His father was a carpenter, who was known for solid construction and the graceful beauty of the furniture he made. His mother was a caring wife and mother, who sewed clothing for her family and organized a large garden to feed her family.