I thought I’d have something to say on the first anniversary of my wife’s death. Turns out I’m struggling for words.

Yesterday, however, as I settled into my chair after breakfast and turned on the tunes. I had a thought. What if, rather than building a refuge, I’d actually built a prison.

Two projects are on tap today. A pool hose needs replacing, no big deal. New speakers need to be installed in the ceiling, big deal.

I traveled a once well-traveled road yesterday.

Went with friends to visit my wife’s grave yesterday. We hung a little decorative pendant by the headstone. It was made by her Ya-Ya’s at their last gathering.

When a good wind blows, the air around the house is full of crape myrtle blossoms, little bits, blown from the big trees.

Last year, today marked the 50th anniversary of my wedding. This year it’s just another day.

Had a dream about my wife and slept right through a thunderstorm last night. In fact, I thought the thunderstorm was part of the dream. Nothing but snippets left this morning.

I had a gloomy spell yesterday afternoon. I was driving through the countryside on the way to hear music, and it swept over me.

I’ve had a series of spirit lifting days, mostly filled with music, satisfying work, and good company.

They say you learn how to grieve as a child by watching those around you. I never thought much about it until now with the passing of my wife. Then I started taking an inventory.

Went to the river this weekend. Camped in the woods, beneath the big pecans. The trees are heavy and thick with age.

A little riff on marriage, about what it meant to be us..

Yesterday, as I was mowing the yard, I drove right into my old life.

Nature. Life’s little instruction book. Particularly, when it comes to making do.

This is the spring of the two blooms. My oaks are putting on new leaves, again. Nice.

Wow. Three days away from writing this little blog and it’s like all the words in my brain decided, “If you’re not going to use us, we’re just going to head out.”

This past winter I introduced pansies into the flowerbed beneath the big oaks. I needed the color. Something nice to look at out the window.

I like these cool mornings and warm afternoons. The former is dedicated to casual yard work, while the latter is dedicated to riding activities, like mowing on the zero turn.

Cue James Brown. I feel good. Two weeks into a six-week group grief counseling session, things are falling into place.