The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.

Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset

Life is not fair at times... But of course things Change quickly down the line, We are born into a No guarantee world.

Summertime gives A chance to grow Under the sun, Travel, to new places And have some fun.

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

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

Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,

Holiday cheer and laughter, Multicolored lights blink faster, Music of love and good will, Grace the air like snowflakes. Tis the season to be compassionate…

In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.

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

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

Time is going by fast, Trying not to live in the past, To keep priorities straight And not falter at the gate. To join the universal goal

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

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light