Dandelions
When the last snowmelt runs down the street and spring peepers have their song, I know the promise of warmth on my skin presses near. Stars! In the grass! Continue reading
When the last snowmelt runs down the street and spring peepers have their song, I know the promise of warmth on my skin presses near. Stars! In the grass! Continue reading
The season tells you what you need to know. Continue reading
I love to look at dill. I love to handle it, chop it. It’s an elegant shape. Its featheriness is touchable; I brush it on my cheeks when no one is looking. Continue reading
IN LATE JUNE, the thrum of annual cicadas, or chicharras, as we call them here in San Antonio, becomes the dominant sound of summer. The air percolates with percussion as males buckle Continue reading
1. MY MOTHER’S MOTHER kept a set of painted wooden nesting dolls on top of her television. When I was small and went to her house, I would take the set Continue reading