Author: Margaret Coombs

Cobalt sky and late shadows. A birch lifts straight arms. Its bulging forehead, narrow nose, round belly make a new neighbor: Tree Man.

Fifteen degrees with a sifting of snow last night. A down-to-earth downy pecks at Bob’s concoction: lard-peanut butter-larvae.

A scraping snow plow wakes us. The snow flickers in the overcast sky, almost undetectably, and stops three hours early.

While I prepare salmon patties and asparagus for supper, my husband finds many reasons to visit the kitchen.

In the coffee shop I’m seated near a table of tasty-looking goodies, sweets spread with thick chocolate. “What?” I ask my friend.