I nearly walked into this leaf before I saw it.

It was hanging in mid-air, about my head height, in the middle of the trail I was walking on in Lincoln Memorial Garden. Fortunately, I saw it just before it banged into my nose. I stopped and backed up a bit.

I couldn’t see the silken thread of the spider’s web that was clinging to the leaf with all its might. I could see tiny threads below the leaf and clinging to the stem of the leaf, but my eyes couldn’t resolve the thread at the top of the leaf, stretching some tens of feet above my head to the nearest tree branch.

That was something to take note of and so I did.

It reminded me of the icicle that I caught with my camera, earlier in the year, hanging by a spider’s web thread from a roof overhang of this same garden’s main building and gift-shop.

A sight seldom seen, enjoyed in the moment.

A petunia, soaking up sun in my brother Larry’s yard.

Larry puts an amazing amount of effort into his yard. It’s not a small yard either. He has thousands of plants, from this small petunia to as least one hundred year old tree. All manner of color and green dot the landscape, carefully cultivated and nurtured through his efforts, year after year.

Whenever Karen and I get over to visit with him and Beverly, his partner in life of over 50 years, we usually are treated to a meandering guided tour of the plantings. What’s in bloom, what will be in bloom, what was in bloom and the dreaded intruder plants that he is always pulling up whenever discovered, such as he did several times during our recent tour.

Karen was much more interested in the details of the garden, and each plant. Me, I was constantly stopping, stooping or bending to and fro, trying to capture the bursts of color or unusual leaves of this or that planting with my camera. I’d catch up and start in on the next plant or bush, or tree as we went along.

This tiny Petunia is not much bigger than my thumb. The green leaves where of such an interesting cut to them, that they make a fine backdrop for the purple blossom.

One of the many visual treats in a carefully cultivated landscape.

One of my favorite walking places, and I’m trying to walk a lot more these days, is on the paths in Lincoln Memorial Garden, on the shore of Lake Springfield.

Carved out of farm fields by the design of landscape architect Jens Jensen, and sponsorship of the Garden Clubs of Illinois in 1836, this forest garden contains trees and plants native to Illinois, Kentucky and Indiana, the three States where Abraham Lincoln lived. From rolling farm land to a forest, Jensen’s vision has been fulfilled and lives on.

I’ve wandered up and down the paths and visited the various council rings made of stone, but during my walks these days, I tend to make a circuit around the entire park. I stop here and there to take photographs of what interests me of the moment. This afternoon, a deer was about 25 yards away from me, casually ignoring me as I walked on and it kept foraging for tasty bits of vegetation. The birds are a constant companion, their calls echoing through the expanse of forest. As I walk the shore line of the lake, the lapping of the water against the rip-rap rock that protects the shore adds to the sounds.

There’s always the light. Layers of light actually, as the sunshine is filtered down through the forest canopy of trees and leaves. I love the way any particular scene changes as the wind moves the tree branches and the clouds perhaps changes the light above.

Here one of the many benches, each inscribed with a quote from Abraham Lincoln, that dot the paths, sits in the shade of that forest canopy. A bridge over one of the few small creeks that channel the runoff into the lake stands nearby.

Just one of the views that keep bringing me back to the garden for my walks.

Three chicken hatchling chicks, huddle for warmth under a heat lamp in my sister’s Kindergarten classroom.

Trish uses the fertilized eggs, from a local farm, to teach about the cycle of life. She brings the eggs into the classroom in an incubator. After a while she candles the eggs so the children can see the growing chick inside, or not as the case may be. Right around a scheduled hatch date, they inspect the eggs every day, looking for signs of pecking from the inside as the chicks struggle to get out of their protective shell.

Not all of the eggs hatch, and not all of the chicks survive beyond cracking their shells. It gives lessons on the realities of life. Not everything goes according to plan. Not everything is perfect.

Seeing the chicks that survive and thrive gives the children an appreciation for those chickens.

It’s just one more way that my sister brings learning alive in the classroom.

Thank you, Trish. You’re the best teacher I know.

Looking into the future with hope, confidence and determination.

This is Kyle, cousin on my wife Karen’s side of the family. He just graduated with honors with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. Listening to him talk of his hard work, these past four years, and his work at finding a position where he can work hard at a career, enable him to get his Master’s degree and meet his goals, had be feeling very proud. He put a ton of effort into becoming the best student he could be. As he says, “If I could just get that face-to-face interview, and show them how hard I’m willing to work for them, I know I could convince them.”

Confidence and hope. Plans for the future. Willingness to put in an extra measure of effort to succeed.

Keep at it, Kyle. Live your dreams and make them happen. Listen to your own voice, and don’t let anything deter you from doing what you enjoy and know you can do well.

There’s our future, folks. A bright and shining hope.