If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

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

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.

When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer

Easing down the gravel road, yellow leaves spiral across, like a welcome

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…

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

An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos

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

White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,

Leaves falling, Another season Decorating the earth. One red leaf In my path,

Grateful for: Sunrise of pink and gold Showing the way, Lighting the sky, To another blessed day.

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

Life is but a dream, our fantasies, spill, like liquid tears that pool and vaporize into the air.