From the mountaintop perspective of grandmother, you look back over life with awe at the way your youthful self saw the world and wonder at the myriad changes that turned your mind and heart to understand what it means to be a mother.

As I watch the stores fill up with over-stuffed Easter bunnies, baskets and chocolate eggs, I scurry around preparing for that wonderful day when the Easter Bunny hops into a perfectly green yard and hides eggs and little gifts among the shiny red tulips, golden daffodils and brilliant blue crocuses for children.

Years ago, when my three nephews moved from North Carolina to Arizona, they wanted to experience everything the state had to offer, even the dust devils.

The Bible is an endless river of goodness and wisdom. When I was a child, it was a library of compelling stories my parents and Sunday school teachers used to coach me about the perils and evil persuasions of life.

Recently I learned a new term, microaggression, that is being tossed around academic circles.

Paper hearts, cupids and chocolates are scattered once again in the windows and on the shelves of the stores. Thoughts turn to the ones we love, hoping to let them know how much we love them.

The ball has dropped, confetti tossed! The whistles have blown, and the firecrackers and sparklers are sleeping in the rubble.

I heard an old story of a woman who had the habit of cutting both ends off the roast before popping it into the oven to bake. One day her daughter asked her, “Mom, why do we cut the ends off the roast before we cook it?

I’m never quite prepared for the first frost. Everything is green and wonderful one day, and the next day it is brown and wilting. I often think of the pioneers during this season of the year and say a little prayer of thanks that I live today and not a hundred years ago.

Once again, the gold, scarlet and orange leaves flutter to the ground leaving the trees stark and bare against the blue sky. The dates on the calendar fly as quickly as the hour changes on a digital clock.