A senior golden retriever, a little red wagon, and an unexpected reminder about aging, making time, and the tenderness we all deserve. Sometimes the smallest moments leave us with the biggest questions.

I surrendered to their demands.

I waited too long to take down my Christmas decorations. A Junco noticed, and she moved right in.

A quiet moment from an ordinary morning—melting snow, birdsong, and a reminder to slow down.

On walking, making, and finding comfort through art when the world feels heavy. A Penny puppy, a pocket of love, and a quiet moment of care.

A birthday trip to Colorado, an unexpected 11½-hour drive home, tiny elephants hidden around my house, and thoughts on slowing down for the holiday season. A little update from my nest to yours.

One flower can hold a whole story. This summer, my Peony Poppy bloomed again—its seeds passed from friend to friend, carrying beauty, memory, and a legacy that keeps growing. 🌸

Every summer, a Mama Junco nests in my flowerpots. This year brought drama, resilience, and the joy of watching her babies hatch and take flight.

A quiet twilight, a glowing bedroom light, and the bittersweet moment of watching my daughter leave for her next adventure.

A hummingbird, a patch of bee balm, and a rare day of stillness. I spent hours sketching, napping, and simply watching the winged things of summer.

One toad. One birdhouse. A perfectly unexpected summer moment.

I'm lucky enough to have family with property on one of the gorgeous lakes in upstate New York, and I was there over Memorial Day weekend. Guess who the special guests were?

The oak tree is full of dried brown leaves. 
We have a foot of snow; 
the wind has been howling, 
yet they stay attached. 

A daily walk turned magical when I spotted six red-bellied woodpeckers gathered in a sycamore tree.

I don't write much about politics, as I prefer to connect with you through nature, art, and the silly antics of our backyard birds, but this feels too big not to mention.

It's all quiet next door. It feels like the house is taking a breath, waiting for the next family to fill it up with kids, toys, dogs, tears, and laughter.

I stopped at the trail's end, where the soft ground ended and the pavement began. It was also where someone might have seen me flailing about...

Within these past 100 days, I returned to work full-time, the seasons changed, and my project is featured in a local magazine. I am still determining when it became apparent that What the Duck evolved to pull my other unfinished pieces together and fill in the blanks to my next book, The Art of Leaving.