Stinging nettles, Calla lilies

Nature is filled with paradox. On a recent walk to look for fiddlehead ferns, those furled beginnings that have to be picked only in the two weeks before they mature, open into the ferns you see by ponds, we also saw poison ivy, brushed against sharp branches. I can't describe the delight I felt finding these shy plants, curled up on the newly thawed ground. My daughter, Kira was with me. She is as familiar with the woods as she is with riding a bicycle. As an aspiring mycologist, she has learned the language of food that grows in dark and secret places--wild onion, morels, hen-of-the-woods, and oyster mushrooms. She is gone now--off to begin another kind of trek; that of higher learning.

We have finished our international book tour and Geraldine Mills has returned to Ireland. Last night I had my last coffeehouse with my writing students at the job I will leave at the end of this year. Endings also bring new possibilities. If I can learn to honor the seasons of things, I will become alert to the quiet places where the best words hide. I can move through the imagination like a native.