All our yesterdays are summarized in our now, and all the tomorrows are ours to shape.

A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least, but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.

March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.

Nothing in nature is as simple as it sometimes seems when reduced to words.

Summer is a promissory note signed in June, its long days spent and gone before you know it, and due to be repaid next January.

As I stood and watched the mists slowly rising this morning I wondered what view was more beautiful than this.

The owl, that bird of onomatopoetic name, is a repetitious question wrapped in feathery insulation especially for Winter delivery.