(2013)
Travel on a winter day which can be dangerous but so beautiful at the same time.
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
When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer
The white snow lay gently on the ground in a swirl pattern. The sky, a slab of smooth grey stone.
Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.
If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most
Ambition seems overrated at this time of life, effort seems more like strife. In my youth I was motivated by a hungry desire
The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.
Last night I dreamt that I floated above the clouds, above the earth and my heart
The wind went through me, it carried the yellow, orange and red leaves lightly on the air. Another change is coming,
The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.
Grateful for: Sunrise of pink and gold Showing the way, Lighting the sky, To another blessed day.
It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.
Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face
Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…
Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy