The grand old weeping willow tree stood silent sentinel over a garden that seemed immense in the mind of a child. In reality, it was a small urban plot, but being my grandmother’s flower garden, it loomed larger than life. No matter what the time of year, there always seemed to be a particular bush, flower or tree in focus, coaxed to its peak perfection by her touch. Among my earliest...

Listen; can you hear it? It is the sound of silence – the silence of the season. It all seems to begin around Thanksgiving – sometimes earlier – the flurry of activity associated with holiday cheer. We take credit card in hand and descend upon shopping malls with a vengeance, fully prepared to fight with fellow shoppers, stressing ourselves to the limit in search of the perfect gift, one we...