The birds flock to the bird feeder, some with black, capped heads and others with

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

Photos are all I have At times, Of smiling familiar faces, My family spread out. I would travel often

Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

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

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

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

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

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

A path with heart Is full of love Which makes us right Brings in the light And chases the dark.

It’s that time of year again. The sound of honking geese fills the air, as they pass in alignment, to the Deep South.

Thoughts flicker like twinkling lights, ride them across the sky. Embrace your dream,

Time is going by fast, Trying not to live in the past, To keep priorities straight And not falter at the gate. To join the universal goal