Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy

To open and risk hurt... Or stay closed but Never really live. Pain can reveal... A connection to

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…

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

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

Red sun in the morning rolling up the side of earth. The sky turned pink, as a ball of fire showed it’s strength,

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

The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down