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

Remember the night we took your mother’s car and drove over the skyway bridge? The moon was a bright light to show the way.

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

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

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

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

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

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

In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission

Beneath the bustling, hustling mind, deep inside, there is an oasis of calm.

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

Life is a day dream So they say, With every beat Of my heart, The gate to love

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

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

My heart is a good heart, It beats strongly And works hard, To keep me alive. My mind is a good mind,