Sleep returns with this image of the river’s perfect reflection.
We dream of vivid flower shops during March’s muted colors.
The corn field slumbers under March snow, waiting for spring thaw.
“Hanging on to the family farm,” in a woodcut from my archives.
In winter deep, snow falls soft and silent, while we sleep.
Cousin Dean, smiling for the camera, raking hay in Dad’s barn eighty years ago.
Beyond the rim of memory, before icemakers clunked in our refrigerators.