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

I remember your smile, your laugh,… you gave so freely. It’s hard that you are gone. I sigh and walk along the bay.

Pretend there is no tomorrow becau… there might not be. Live like there is only this momen… that is the truth. Nothing is solid but whispery,

Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy

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

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

Today, I wish the pain to go, the fatigue that I fight so. This process of aging is unkind and yet, the law of nature is a fast lane of change.

Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

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

If I could go back in time I would fix my wrongs, I would sing new songs And mend all hate And open the gate

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down

Beneath the bustling, hustling mind, deep inside, there is an oasis of calm.

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