Everyone touches the world in their own way. Making my own tiny imprint through this blog, I need to balance the dark with the light, the yin with the yang. This post and poem are gentle and positive.

I spent about ten minutes photographing our Inverness seagull, who I named Nessie (wouldn’t you?), and this was truly a microjoy.

In winter, leafless trees frame the landscape or cityscape, delicate and lacy while at the same time sturdy and lasting.

It’s a bright, shiny new year. What will we do with it? Instead of resolutions for New Year’s, a focus word (or two).

It started out with cooking and recipes as the Glover Gardens Cookbook and grew into something else, something more, something unexpected.

A bench is an invitation to become one with it for a while, to sit and be still in your surroundings, and let nature and the world flow around you.

Cascading collective trauma is the term for what we’re experiencing as we endure seemingly never-ending external events and tragedies.

Life lessons from embroidery.

Walking is like a photosynthesis activity for us, an absorption of what’s out there to help us grow and stay healthy within, and also a process of shedding mental toxins.

Musings about why we appreciate sunsets, a recipe for a refreshing Chambord and rosé cocktail, and a haiku.

Sometimes I realize I’m distracted by the myriad of data and news and trivia (oh my!) that worm their way into my consciousness and need a break from all that external stimuli.

Peaceful images from a weekend at Gumbo Cove.

Sometimes, people die because they feel “less than”; they die because they think they’re alone. They think they’re the only ones crying in the night, because they’re crying alone and don’t feel safe enough to talk about it. We. Have. To Talk. About. It.

A poem for people you love who are in pain.

These images are from a photo safari I undertook this week in Jefferson, Colorado, in between intense empathy and hand-wringing.

I’m fascinated by the dandelion; such a temporal thing it is. Transient, and yet tenacious, it grows, blooms, morphs, and flies away, above the fray, to plant seeds (and a new life) somewhere else.

Today, on Labor Day, I’m thinking of the many people I know who are laboring or heavy-laden, and I pray for them to find respite, peace, healing, comfort and support.

The Glover Gardens blog is back after a hiatus, sharing the positive outcome after we decided to Get On Up.

Our fence posts seemed to be a set of crosses with a message: Spring is here, the tomb is empty, and resurrection, rebirth and new growth are real.

We’re all waiting for the day when friends can once again be greeted with a bear hug.