The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched

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

Driving down the road, The song, “Let It Be” Came on the radio. Taking me back to Various scenarios.

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

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

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

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

Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go

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

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,

Not sure where we are headed, Could be a long ride, Keep your heart steady, Open wide your eyes. There is something to learn

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

When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer

Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry