Take a look at this beauty, made for my humble garden by my dear father in law. Imagine all the time, patience and craftsmanship that it took to make such a lovely thing.



Windmills are like writers, really. Endlessly spinning in different directions, taken hither and yon by inspiration, and a deep yearning to move someone else. The effort can be beautiful, frenetic, and just plain futile sometimes, but you can’t really choose not to, any more than a windmill can decide not to turn. It just does, because that’s what it was made to do. What wind moves you, friends? Tell me.