The Calico Cottage had a white picket fence And a trellis that grew roses red A patch of green grass held a table set with tea Over by the wild flower bed. And there in my chair As I sip on my tea With pen and journal I write Soft breezes blowing, flowers growing A feast to my taste and my sight. Spending time in God's garden Peaceful beauty around What better thing could I do? Except pour one more cup And share one more plate And spend it dear friend with you. Linda Dodson 2

The first cold, harsh winds blew in November, showing up like an early unwanted guest arriving too soon. Those icy, cold days were the bleakest with not a glimpse of sun to warm our faces. Not a powdery snow which softly blanketed the ground. No. It was not to be. But instead a cold, hard ice that would not even grace us a footprint. Bravery was trudging to the mailbox and expecting to hear the crunch of the grass under my feet. Our grass instead rendered no sound, just