Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face

Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.

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

Soft gray clouds pass slowly by, Soon they will release a gift of r… Trees are shedding their leaves As they turn red, orange and yello… Signaling the squirrels to collect…

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,

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

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

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

Geese are honking As they fly Across an orange colored Sky. My spirit soars

The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

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

As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,

Itchy eyes scaly feet achy joints and bad teeth hair so fine

White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,

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