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

There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds, The hidden imperfections Of my existence.

Blue star behind tree branch. White cloud passing half moon. Black space surrounds like a

The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

Pretend there is no tomorrow becau… there might not be. Live like there is only this momen… that is the truth. Nothing is solid but whispery,

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

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

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…

In the rustle of leaves the wind plays a tune, the change of season is on the horizon. It asks permission

An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos

White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,

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

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

Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon

Remember the night we took your mother’s car and drove over the skyway bridge? The moon was a bright light to show the way.