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…

Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,

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

Today, I wish the pain to go, the fatigue that I fight so. This process of aging is unkind and yet, the law of nature is a fast lane of change.

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

It is what it is Despite my wishes for it, Otherwise. You are who you are Despite my expectations,

It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

Great scientific minds Working for cures Of terminal diseases, The clock ticks... What is the cure

Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up

Standing at a crossroad Between this life And the next, Heart in hand I knock on that

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

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

Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face

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

This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.