There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds, The hidden imperfections Of my existence.

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

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

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

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

On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

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

When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old

The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,

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

Tonight, the wind whistles as it rushes through the atmospher… Winter’s bare limbs of swaying trees, dance in the shadows.

Standing at a crossroad Between this life And the next, Heart in hand I knock on that

Memories of my childhood Visit more and more Each day, As ghosts of past relatives Cast their shadows,