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

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

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

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

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

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

The white snow, thin Like sand, over The fields, blowing Across the road. My car rambles

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

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

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

Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals

Driving down the road, The song, “Let It Be” Came on the radio. Taking me back to Various scenarios.

Summertime gives A chance to grow Under the sun, Travel, to new places And have some fun.

The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.

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