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

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

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 gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

When you are not here An empty heart full of fear Arises and wonders If I will see you again. What will I do without

The white snow lay gently on the ground in a swirl pattern. The sky, a slab of smooth grey stone.

Blue star behind tree branch. White cloud passing half moon. Black space surrounds like a

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

Walking down the dirt path, Sounds drift on the air, Birds chirping, leaves Rustling, dogs barking. Interconnection of life

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles

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,

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

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

Soft gray clouds pass slowly by, Soon they will release a gift of r… Trees are shedding their leaves As they turn red, orange and yello… Signaling the squirrels to collect…