Seasons. Their endings are so different, aren’t they? Aside from it being my youngest son’s birthday month, I rush to April’s end, for the crusty, dirty icy mounds to disappear. But August? It’s the contrary. A month of days to savor the small things. The easy stroll of my grocery cart across the parking lot, the wind-whispering blond strands as I watch my granddaughter push her dolly in a stroller, the fine new grass on our lawn from hubby’s seed planting. And yesterday’s spontaneous stop at the Chanhassen Farmer’s Market. It’s where I met shop owner, Mary, who has an…

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