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

Life is but a dream, our fantasies, spill, like liquid tears that pool and vaporize into the air.

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

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

Old friends walking on the beach, the waves bring in, memories, of carefree days;

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

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

Inhale, the arms float up, Exhale, the arms float down, Namaste, at the heart. Inhale, the body bends, Hands at top of mat,

Oh billionaires! How you have lost your soul, lost the goal and kneel down

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

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,

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

Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,

Photos are all I have At times, Of smiling familiar faces, My family spread out. I would travel often

Every hour we are someone Different, Every day something new Learned, Death is just another