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

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

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,

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,

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

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

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

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

My heart is a good heart, It beats strongly And works hard, To keep me alive. My mind is a good mind,

Orange full moon with a half smile, a hanging lantern, lighting the way, through dark streets,

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

Leaves falling, Another season Decorating the earth. One red leaf In my path,

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

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…