There is money to be made in the market place, but under the cherry tree there is rest.

I write a story in my head. I see the story like a movie.

How evanescent those loves and friendships seem at this distance in time…We move on, make new attachments. We grow old. But sometimes, we hanker for old friendships, the old loves. Sometimes I wish I was young again. Or that I could travel back in time and pick up the threads. Absent so long, I may have stopped loving you, friends; but I will never stop loving the Day I loved you.

I mostly write short stories. They are best written in a continuous creative process. You have a feel of immediacy.

But the trees seemed to know me. They whispered among themselves and beckoned me nearer. And looking around, I noticed the other small trees and wild plants and grasses had sprung up under the protection of the trees we had placed there. The trees had multiplied! They were moving. In one small corner of the world, Grandfather's dream was coming true and the trees were moving again.

To return to my own trees, I went among them often, acknowledging their presence with a touch of my hand against their trunks.

Red roses for young lovers. French beans for longstanding relationships