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

Red, yellow and orange leaves Fall quickly now And create a tapestry of color That fill my mind With joy.

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

Autumn wind Brings scattered leaves, Splattered, With red and gold. Autumn wind

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

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

Itchy eyes scaly feet achy joints and bad teeth hair so fine

The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

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

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

One year since I traveled to paradise. One year since I laughed and danced with friends. One year since I watched

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

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

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