the snow fell

north and west of here.

in brattleboro the procession of spring continued,

though at a slower, frostier pace.

in the immortal words of stevie winwood

"...just roll with it, baby"

what are you rollin' with today?

where you goin?

"i'm a gonna

fishin'

'cause everybody's

fishin'

and i'm a gonna

fishin'

too..."

lyrics by doc watson

hope you land a big one

aye, me buck-o,

there be adventures brewing here

(how lucky is the kid who lives with this guy?)

we all, from time to time, reach toward the seemingly unattainable

sometimes with grace,

sometimes without

(no animals were harmed in the taking of these photographs...i promise)

you may laugh, my dear italian friends,

but this vermont scene inspires happy dreams of tuscany

overlooking broad brook

this house breathes sunlight

trillium

this shy beauty hides in the vermont woods...to find her is a small triumph.

to harass her in any way is against the law.

fireworks in april

are low to the ground and joyfully slow in fading

for those who must be inside on the glorious days

refresh your spirit every chance you get

with nourishing sips of the elixir of spring

and now for the mother of yesterday's sweet potato boy

happy birthday to one of the most hardworking young women i know

with love from your aunt brattcat

happy birthday to my brother, mark,

grandfather of this beautiful boy

who has yet to acquire a taste for sweet potatoes

have you ever noticed

how the fresh palette of spring foreshadows the high drama of autumn?

mr. brattcat's garden

is infinitely more rabbit friendly than Mr. McGregor's...

of course it's easy to be rabbit friendly when there are no rabbits.

flashing

enough said

oh, spring,

each silken petal like the milky breath of a newborn

mother nature's favorite lipstick

blush pink

i hope you haven't had your fill

of nodding heads of daffodil

the humble, rumble bumblebee

so handsome,

yet such modesty.

both my daughter and i thank you for your kind wishes yesterday!

you arrived at the tail end of a snow storm...

this year on the anniversary of your birth

the forsythia twirls in its yellow skirts.

happy birthday, darling girl.

may your nest be ever feathered with joy.

one of seven

five week old field spaniel puppies.

would you lose your heart to such a darling?

i don't mean to crow, said the rooster,

but look at how all these lovely chicks have come home to roost

the laundry

laps up sweet-scented sunlight

portrait of a sad cat

because his beloved playmates have returned to england

attending a show at the new england youth theater

makes even the oldest fossil feel young again

we need tom sawyer and a bit of whitewash

on upper chapin street

may only joy

blossom in your garden

waiting for spring

in the courtyard of the boston public library

the streets of boston

veiled by curtains of rain

as seen through the plastic windows of a trolley

theme day: red

on a soggy afternoon

this bostonian took shelter under a bright umbrella

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