Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face

I do believe, to give to others lends meaning to our lives. To be there

First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

Not sure where we are headed, Could be a long ride, Keep your heart steady, Open wide your eyes. There is something to learn

In the still night In the silence, My soul begs, My mind to rest. It’s story told

Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy

Walking on the edge, Between awareness and sleep. Sometimes... I’m in the moment, I feel my body,

The birds flock to the bird feeder, some with black, capped heads and others with

Come with me To the mountain top, Where the crest touches The sky And the air so pure,

Her smile was like gold, Her lines were often bold, Her stories of wisdom told, In books that are now sold. She has left the earth,

Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals