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

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

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

One year since I traveled to paradise. One year since I laughed and danced with friends. One year since I watched

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

In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,

What if, The simple things In life, were the Most important Events.

Ambition seems overrated at this time of life, effort seems more like strife. In my youth I was motivated by a hungry desire

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

The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.

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

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

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

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

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