This Easter, a memory from the Tuscan hills reminds me that even in uncertain times, peace and hope endure. Wishing you a season of light, renewal, and quiet grace.
Marek sat in his boat, the cold pressing into his bones. The nets were set, but he knew. He always knew. The herring were gone, the cod were ghosts. The river, once generous, had turned silent. He pulled the lines anyway. A fisherman does not stop fishing just because the fish have left. A man does not stop rowing just because the water runs cold.
Milky Way and Petroglyphs - Moab, Utah
My wife and I had a grand idea: transform a tiny patch of our Florida yard into a lush English garden. Never mind the heat, the sandy soil, and the ever-curious lizards—it was going to be stunning. But first, we had to agree on what it would actually look like. Enter AI, my trusty assistant in garden design (and occasional chaos generator). While our final garden may not resemble a scene from the Cotswolds, we’re embracing the challenge with humor, determination, and a lot of mulch.
“I built it for love. Not for power, nor for vanity, but for her. When Mumtaz left this world, the sky dimmed, and the earth cracked beneath me. So I built a monument, not to death, but to devotion—a place where the river carries whispers of her name, where the world would look upon its beauty and know: this was love, made eternal in stone.”
A Wind-Blown, Tide-Ravaged Coastline Lost in Time The wind howls through the pines, bending them like weary sentinels along the rugged, tide-ravaged shore. Salt lingers in the heavy air, whispering…
Time clings to the ancient stones of this weathered gate, its arched passageway a silent guardian to an all-but-forgotten Tuscan hilltop town. The golden glow of a single lantern flickers against the rough-hewn walls, casting shifting shadows that whisper of centuries past. Beyond, the narrow alley fades into darkness, where echoes of distant footsteps and hushed voices of history seem to linger in the cool night air.
A Dark Night in Georgia The Cotton Fields’ Keeper The farmhouse stood quiet, a shell of what once was—a cotton farm, alive and thriving. Now it slouched against the backdrop…