It's That Time of Year

As I have written, this was my mother's favorite time of year.  Renewal, rejuvenation, rebirth.  The garden clearly misses her attention, but I enjoy being out there, I feel closer to her.  And Annie reminds me of Murphy, dropping her tennis balls in the holes I dig.  My mother would laugh at Murphy when she did that.

It's that time of year.  My memories have the same rhythm as my breathing, in and out.  I keep waiting for the renewal, the rejuvenation of my spirit.  But I'm still tired, worn out from years of emotion...

Murphy's Day.