A blog by Paula J Wray. Hawthorne, Wild and Fair. A bird must have planted the tree. I would have judged the spot too close to the house. But birds and seeds have no such restrictions, and so this wild Hawthorne tree is close enough to the window where I drink my morning cup of tea, I could reach out and touch it without moving from the pillow I lean against on the window seat. Yes, I go to church at Our Lady.

Life in the Boomer Lane. Musings of a former hula hoop champion. Older Men, Younger Women Update. I found out about a month ago that a woman, J, who, throughout most of high school and college, was my best friend, was on Hospice care in a nursing home outside of Philadelphia. She was in the final stages of emphysema.

Landscapes, nature, archaeology and other interests. About Memoirs of a husk. Religious, for a year. Swamps, in Zambia, in the rain. It was a two walk weekend, after a week of only one. And that one was to the shops. With a brief diversion into the cemetery. Work, but people who are. But back to the walks.

Stop Trying to Prove Doctors Wrong.

The surfer dude kept smiling at me. And it was kind of fun. He was just a rock. Theirs was a union blessed by the light of the sun.

Is it Just Me or Are You Crazy? Look at me, said Birdie. Gerald turned and stared at her. What am I looking for? Do I have a neon sign hovering above me that says, Lunatics, welcome? Birdie pointed toward her head. Not that I can see.

Just thinking about what the Shepherd said.