The last of the snow pictures, I promise. (We may have turned the corner with some blustery March days.) I have been reading John Burroughs lately, delighting in his beautiful prose. I picked up a copy of Locusts and Wild Honey (1879) in Fredericksburg earlier this winter ~ an 1880s edition, with a Sarah Wyman Whitman binding. It is as delightful to hold as it is to read. And somehow, essays on birds and bees seem to anticipate spring and have me dreaming of apple blossoms.
Happy thursday...xo.
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