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).

A fiery sunset beats a fireworks display any day.

Recreation recommendations in Miami from a grad student. Parks, peacocks and foodie-worthy restaurants, oh my!

A family of geese came and went, causing us to worry about predators: gators and eagles and hawks, oh my!

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.

Peaceful images from a weekend at Gumbo Cove.

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.

Combining an acknowledgement that there are way too may good reasons to be cynical right now with a reminder that the world still has great things to offer us.

Nature is a natural antidote to down days.

Boreas Pass in central Colorado is scenic, lovely, unspoiled and a call from nature to join her.

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

We had a visit from a beautiful mule deer here at Little House in the Rockies this week. She wasn’t at all skittish or shy.

Frogs can and do freeze, including their hearts, and then thaw and get right back to living their everyday froggy life when it warms up. We’re doing the renewal pruning at Glover Gardens in our own efforts to get our green back.

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

We celebrate, honor and value birds, today and every day.

A heron stopped by Gumbo Cove while I was there doing more cleanup from Hurricane Zeta.

A haiku inspired by mourning doves in the early morning at Gumbo Cove … were they sentries? Signposts? They seemed like they were anxiously awaiting something. Like us.