It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light

Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.

Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the

Geese are honking As they fly Across an orange colored Sky. My spirit soars

The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.

In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,

Life is not fair at times... But of course things Change quickly down the line, We are born into a No guarantee world.

Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…

As we shared stories, The warm hum of voices heard, A cup of love spilled.

The dance of fear, Of not being enough, Stops and starts. The unknown, an Uncharted sea,

I lay still While my loved one, Sleeps. His warm hand In my hand,

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