It is 37˚ and cloudy, but it felt warmer than that when I went to get the papers. The clouds have the look of rain, but no rain is predicted. A warm-up is supposed to be coming next week, maybe even a little bit of spring. It is getting to look for the green shoots the Garden time.

When I was a kid, I never noticed flowers. My father planted mostly Pansies in the small front garden of our house, but I only noticed them because some of the flowers were planted near the front steps so I saw them when I was coming and going. Pansies always looked to me as if they had faces and were wearing hats, wide brim frilly hats. Somehow I always thought of pansies as garden sprites.

My mother used to read books to me when I was little. We started with Golden Books, and by the time I was two, I had learned the names of all the animals on the backs of the books. My mother told me she’d point to an animal, and I’d identify it and even make the sound if it had one. When I was a bit older, my mother read longer stories to me. I remember The Billy Goats’ Gruff and the troll under the bridge. I also remember Little Black Sambo and how smart he was making the tigers chase each other until they turned to butter. I still remember the illustration of the tigers chasing each other around that tree. I didn’t notice Little Black Sambo was actually Black. I thought that was just his name. Hansel and Gretel were tricky and smart. The witch wasn’t. I loved that Gretel pushed the witch into the hot oven. She was my hero.

I never was afraid of witches or trolls. I knew they weren’t real. They were just characters from the pages of books though I might have hesitated crossing a wooden bridge or looked underneath just in case. I did believe fairies were real. I saw them with my own eyes in the field below my backyard. They blinked in the summertime.