The furrows between the early onions are whitewashed with hail and heavy snowflakes.  The language of winter would chill any spring.  The waiting for sunshine is taking too long so we left.  Yes we hit the road (ok air) and left the gardens for a while.  We will keep you posted as we wander around the waters of Europe looking for story, history, herstory and home.  We may discover that the vanishing point is really a vanishing path and that no matter how many stones you roll away there will always be new ones each spring!