As I sit here on the May evening with iPad in hand thoughts turn to my Dad.

That dearly loved man spent many hours in his latter years scrawling longhand stories of the world outside his porch. He was 82 before age made him lay down his old ballpoint pen.

With the Niagara River, somewhat calm today, and nature all around, he painted word pictures as only he could. It might be a great blue heron, a wandering cat, his walnut trees, etc.

His beloved Review might be filled with troubling news both local and elsewhere but his columns allowed readers to focus on the small yet priceless things of nature.

In our once busy world and even now we don’t take enough time to simply sit in silence and enjoy. Spring has its unique way of reminding us of this wonderful yearly rebirth.

I’m going out as I end this and watch raindrops in a puddle on our side deck.