This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.

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

In the blink of an eye It’s a different scene On the big movie screen So easy to get absorbed In the story line of time.

Memories of my childhood Visit more and more Each day, As ghosts of past relatives Cast their shadows,

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

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

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

Pink hues from the west Filter through Snow covered boughs Leaving, The evening light

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

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

What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,

Rolling painted deserts of the west. Shrub bushes dot sloping hillsides. Relentless sun heats up

Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,

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

To open and risk hurt... Or stay closed but Never really live. Pain can reveal... A connection to