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

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

When you are not here An empty heart full of fear Arises and wonders If I will see you again. What will I do without

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

The dance of fear, Of not being enough, Stops and starts. The unknown, an Uncharted sea,

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

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

On this New Year’s Eve Direction lost Drifting like blowing snow To and fro. A freeze comes

One lit candle burns brightly As I make a wish upon it’s Golden aura, that Humankind May learn to caress the earth As the wind does a field of flower…

What if, The simple things In life, were the Most important Events.

Tonight, the wind whistles as it rushes through the atmospher… Winter’s bare limbs of swaying trees, dance in the shadows.

Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals