Keenly aware of an unusual lack of wind, I explored the garden while he stacked a rather small load of firewood on the side porch — just enough to warm a few more chilly evenings during what's left of winter. March — coming in like a lion, as the saying goes — usually sends the tall trees swaying; but this afternoon, the skeletal branches silhouetted against a gray sky stayed still. I embraced the calm, stopping to inhale and exhale long and slow, letting the sweet fragrance of thawing earth do its restoring work. The sun on its way to setting illuminated this and that, here and there. I found this small leaf caught up in the thin branches of a river birch, catching the light like a rare gem — and just as valuable.
Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.
— E. B. White, American writer
