Marking the Seasons

It's been 10 years.
10 years since we first drove up this winding little road.
This winding little road that goes up and up and up.

10 years since our first trip past the almond trees in bloom.
I mark the years we have lived here by those pink blossoms.


They haven't always looked so sparse. So neglected.
But the years have crept up on them. And so has the Spanish moss.
That is the way with time. It marches on. And things change.

Like our home.
When we first saw it, the hillside house with the red door, it looked like this:

Grandma Carol took this picture for us, and I am so grateful that she did.
We can look back because someone else looked forward and knew that we would want to.

This is a foggy morning shot of our house recently.

It's green now, not grey.
The oaks have grown and plants have been added.
And girls have grown up and moved away.
But the door is still red. And it still opens up to the place we call home.