The vine just outside the dining door retains its green leaves all winter and is a perfect hiding place for birds before they swoop down onto the feeders.
I gauge which way the wind is blowing and its strength by looking at a remnant of white plastic caught in the bare limbs of a tree behind the house.
The quilt I hung on the dining room wall was made by my husband's great-grandmother -- her signature stitches so small that I can barely see them.
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