Morning in the garden. Holly blossoms in the air. I move some ferns and plant some impatiens. As I plunge my hands into the worked soil, I feel connected to the day. Birds sing from their green perches.

I measure the warmth, the freedom of being outside in shirt sleeves before 8 a.m. It’s a good way to live.

My neighbor, Nancy, reads my mind: “I love mornings in the garden, don’t you?” She’s on her daily  walk. I will soon be on mine, too.