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

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.

You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own

Silver sliver of the moon With the bright star of Venus Trailing behind. Moonbeams casting light On the waves,

Remember goodness in the fire of e… Remember joy in the center of sorr… Remember love in the flood of hate… Remember courage in the pit of fea… It’s never too late.

Perhaps it is the mind separating things into this and that. Perhaps it is the mind with it’s preferences

First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds

Red bird perched on a tree limb laced with snow. So happy to see him and the joy he brings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her smile was like gold, Her lines were often bold, Her stories of wisdom told, In books that are now sold. She has left the earth,