Many thoughts in the mind, Some productive, some not. They glow like fires, Created by needs and

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

Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.

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

Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset

There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds,

It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

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

Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,

Thoughts flicker like twinkling lights, ride them across the sky. Embrace your dream,

Yellow finches Line the bird feeder Against Spring’ s canopy Of green and purple tapestry. Back and forth they go

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

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

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