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

Embrace that which comes with ease: The twinkling of an eye, The drumbeat of a heart, The blooming of a flower,

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

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

Half a world away, I walk a narrow, stone path. In the rice fields, the Balinese people

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

Time passing by now In a blink of the eye, In the clap of a hand, In the chirp of a bird, In a flash of light

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

What is the happiest moment of the… When I make someone laugh When I am of use for the good When I show kindness When I hold a hand

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry

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

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

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