I sit on the branch of the apple tree with my arm wrapped around the trunk my hand resting on the rough bark. Beneath the tree, violet and spring beauty wildflowers are sprinkled in the grass. As the breeze gently touches my face, I am filled with almost unbearable joy.
From the back porch, I look down the yard past the apple tree up the hill to the train tracks. I see the garden with the railroad tie walkways. I take the steps down into the basement. Jars of applesauce, peaches, tomatoes, and chili sauce are lined up on the shelf. The scent of oil and wood fills the air.
Unfolding his wings, the heron takes off in flight over the pond. The beaver dives into the water with a splash. In the woods, the ground is blanketed by bluebells from the river to the top of the hill. As the sun sets, the cotton wood tree stands silhouetted against the darkening sky.
I have been collecting these memories: the ordinary and the extraordinarily beautiful. They unfold like love letters to give warmth and beauty, kindness and peace.